


The Inevitable Farewell

by cosmicruin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Time Loop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/pseuds/cosmicruin
Summary: Jongin will defy everything if it means carving out more time for Sehun.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bpearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpearl/gifts).



> Hello, dear recipient! Perhaps you already have an idea of the prompt I’ve chosen based on my questions during the writing period and the tags above. This fic I offer is an amalgam of several plot revisions and breaking a personal vow of not touching a certain element again. It was a challenge to write, primarily because I have never tackled anything like this before. Still, I keep my fingers crossed it’s at least to your liking! My sincerest apologies for the ridiculously long wait, as well.
> 
> To the mods, no amount of words can express how extremely grateful I am for your patience and leniency toward me when I kept facing setbacks. I don’t think I can thank you enough, but still, thank you so, _so_ much for everything.
> 
> Many thanks to Ally for helping me straighten out my outline once and for all. Tsundere kindred spirit Sehun would be proud. Don’t deny. You know it’s true.
> 
> Last but definitely not least, thank you to the most lovable K, who helped me out on certain parts and whose opinions added to my insight. You are awesome.
> 
>  **In case anybody missed it the first time: this fic is a choose-not-to-warn experience**. Should you decide to give this a chance despite that and stay until the end, I thank you in advance for doing so. Let it also be known that science isn’t my strongest point; thus, any errors you might encounter are mine and stem from purposeful hand-waving to make certain things work.
> 
> Also, for the unfamiliar, Lee Jinki is SHINee’s Onew.
> 
>  **Original post date:** 170128  
>  **Complete fic posted:** 170507

“This is it.”

Jongin encircled the final answer and stepped back from the massive white board. He scrutinized each scribbled solution from the beginning, afraid he’d overlooked a symbol or miscalculated. Every detail counted so he couldn’t afford to be careless. The tiniest error could cause the biggest, gravest complications.

He studied the calculation several times more. Although he told himself nothing was worth celebrating until proven, Jongin couldn’t help smiling at the possibility of a breakthrough after years of research.

The door swung open, breaking the silence of the room. A bespectacled man in his mid-thirties walked in, carrying a stack of printed articles. “Jongin, did you check on—”

“Professor Jo, I think I found it.”

Professor Jo blinked at him in confusion before his eyes strayed to the board. Jongin took the articles from his arms and watched him analyze the calculations, face a slideshow of emotions the further he moved.

“This…” Professor Jo uttered the word in breathless amazement. “If this is what we’ve been looking for, then we’ve landed ourselves a breakthrough. Round up the others; we need to inform them of this incredible find.”

Soon Jongin found himself standing in front of twenty-odd other physicists and explaining how he might have found a vital solution that could help move their progress along. Murmurs of fascination spread throughout the boardroom, prompting deeper discussion of what lay ahead for their research. Various perspectives and opinions were tossed around the table, but Jongin knew one prevalent thought reigned among them: they might have found a way to unlock the secrets of time travel.

Professor Jo took over the discussion. “We already formed the basic framework from previous experiments. Applying the new calculation and tweaking it accordingly will aid us in the development of the time machine. We might not achieve immediate results, but it can only get better from here on out.”

Jongin clocked out of work with a spring in his step. His bag weighed heavier from the additional articles he’d stuffed into it for his nighttime reading, and the winter cold nipped at his nose and cheeks from the lack of a scarf, but these didn’t deter him from picturing the future landscape on the commute home. Would it resemble anything like the movies he watched? Would there be sky-high steel buildings constructed into the most impossible of shapes and flying vehicles replacing those running on land?

The blast of warm air hitting his face upon entering the apartment interrupted his musings. Jongin noticed the pair of leather shoes in the foyer and smiled. He deposited his bag on the nearest armchair and followed the aroma of fried pork and vegetables, peeling off his socks on the way and sighing in bliss on freeing his toes.

“I’m home!”

In the kitchen was a man his age by the stove, standing with his back turned. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, movements precise and unhurried. He turned around, spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other, momentary surprise giving way to a soft smile when their eyes met.

“Hey, you.” Jongin erased the distance between them and pressed his lips to Sehun’s in a sweet, drawn out kiss.

Sehun hummed after pulling away, rubbing his nose against his. “Your nose is cold.”

“Forgot my scarf today.” Jongin grinned in apology at the exasperated look Sehun awarded him. “I won’t forget tomorrow—promise.”

Sehun motioned his head toward the cupboards. “Some help, please?”

Sitting beside Sehun on the couch and stuffing their mouths with _tangsuyuk_ while watching the news for the first time in two weeks was a welcome reprieve. Researching kept him cooped up in the institute beyond his usual hours, especially with the marginal progress their experiments had shown. By the time he reached home, he only had enough energy for showering before passing out on their bed.

“So you’re saying your calculation just might be the answer to time travel?” Sehun asked, after the commercials came on.

Jongin nodded, excitement rekindled at the thought of it. “We’ll have to conduct more experiments, of course, but that’s all secondary to the possibility of providing an answer to one of humankind’s greatest mysteries.”

“Sound great! Your biggest dream has come true, and you’ve made it possible by your own hands. I’m so proud of you.” Sehun beamed, eyes shining with affection.

Warmth circled in Jongin’s chest and tugged at the corners of his mouth upward. “Thanks, Sehun.”

Sehun’s face took on a thoughtful look. “Who would’ve thought it would take the year 2019 before time travel could turn into a possibility?” He shook his head in awe. “Will this mean busier weekdays? Work on weekends?”

“Possibly.” Jongin saw no point in hedging. It wouldn’t be the first time, if ever. “You know how Professor Jo can be when he’s fired up. You know how _I_ can be when I’m fired up.” Sehun chuckled. “Don’t lock me out if I come home after midnight?”

Sehun huffed in feigned offense. “Just don’t come to bed reeking of your filth. I don’t care how sleepy you are, I’ll kick you off.” He turned up his nose in a show of haughtiness.

Jongin barked out an amused laugh. “Yes, sir.”

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin’s dream took concrete shape in increments.

His calculations paved the way for countless experiments and gradual but steady advancement. Everyone in the team piled their hopes and dreams into the time machine they’d been developing for years, optimistic even in the face of lukewarm results and unexpected setbacks. Some days were harder than others when they hit a dead end, or it seemed like they were going around in circles, but the team was tireless in their efforts in making it work.

By mid-February, in the year 2020, the time machine was built to completion. It didn’t look anything like the fancy machines shown in movies; rather, it was a plain white box shaped like a microwave, with giant wires hooked to it and powered by massive amounts of electricity when it was ready for testing. The time machine still carried certain limitations, such as the size of the subjects it could host and the unpredictable location of where they would appear, so Professor Jo suggested starting small.

For the first formal experiment, they used a packet of melon bread and sent it an hour ahead of the current time. Professor Jo gave Jongin the honor of drawing on the wrapper, the entire team bearing witness, to prove its authenticity and uniqueness.

The melon bread was shoved the machine, its flap closed. It whirred to life, its hum akin to the engine of a brand-new car. The lights installed on top lit green and disappeared when the mechanical voice announced the mission complete.

Collective gasps broke the tense atmosphere upon opening the machine and no sign of the packet.

Professor Jo found the melon bread sitting peacefully on top of his desk an exact hour later—the very same one with Jongin’s bear cub doodles decorating the wrapper.

2021’s entrance witnessed the time machine evolving from its humble origins into a grand glass-walled booth spacious enough to fit three people inside. Implemented tweaks now provided the improved option of setting the exact locations and times. To check whether it could withstand sending a human test subject to the future, they conducted an experiment on a mannequin and sent it three hours ahead, set to appear in Professor Jo’s office.

The mannequin fell in one piece from an invisible pocket on the ceiling and landed smack dab on Professor Jo’s desk three hours later.

Subsequent experiments raised the stakes. Six hours from the current time, the mannequin was found sprawled on the pantry floor. Twelve hours: the gents. Twenty-four: the reception area, startling Jongin, who pulled an all-nighter and witnessed for himself how the mannequin tumbled out of the built-in utility closet. (The receptionist who opened it confirmed the mannequin wasn’t there when she left the day before). Forty-eight: the parking lot, returned by the guard on duty and claiming he saw it on the curb after assisting a man asking for directions.

One mannequin eventually became three in the coming months, appearing in the appointed places without fail. The machine’s 99.9% success rate proved its capabilities, and while results were favorable, the team remained cautious. They might have unlocked a way for time travel to the future, but the reverse continued as a scientific impossibility. It would be impossible to track someone down once sent to the future.

On March 2021, Professor Jo announced the time machine ready for its ultimate test: sending three volunteers to the year 2101, the beginning of the 22nd century.

Professor Jo’s other announcement of volunteering himself to the experiment received mixed reactions. Jongin’s initial surprise faded into admiration. Professor Jo spearheaded the project. Most superiors would rather appoint subordinates in their place, sometimes using them as convenient excuses if something went wrong to save their reputations.

One slot filled; two more left.

Jongin stared at the violet envelope he tossed onto his desk. Professor Jo handed out one each in the meeting room earlier. Inside resided the volunteer form, together with the full terms and conditions the experiment entailed. Interested individuals would be given two weeks to submit their form if they decided to join. If in the event the number of volunteers exceeded the number of available slots—

Jongin couldn’t help the wry smile tugging at his mouth. He doubted they would reach the quota. Not when he saw through his team members’ poker faces as they fiddled with their own violet envelopes.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t share their apprehension.

Instead of working overtime like usual, Jongin left early and sent Sehun a KakaoTalk message.

 **5:45 PM**  
_naengmyeon :D_

 **Sehun  
** 5:47 PM  
_:o_  
_c u_

Their favorite _naengmyeon_ shop was one subway ride away from the institute with an additional ten-minute walk. It was Sehun who found the shop from his endless trawling of favorite food blogs and dragged him to celebrate their freedom after a gruesome finals week as college sophomores. At the time, the shop was only a month old, so they held no expectations for the food. However, the broth’s flavor was magical, the freshness of the noodles none unlike they’d eaten anywhere, and the owner’s hospitality met and cemented their expectations. No turning back since.

Jongin hadn’t stepped ten paces into the shop when he found the owner clearing a newly-vacated table. “Hi, _hyung_.”

Lee Jinki stopped mid-lift of a bowl and turned, an affable smile forming on his lips. “Hello there, Jongin! Nice of you to drop by today. How are you?” He looked at the space beside him, brows furrowing as if trying to figure something out. “Are you by yourself?”

“I’m fine, hyung, but I am a bit hungry. Sehun’s still at work, but he’ll show up later.”

Jinki nodded and motioned to the vacant tables in the shop. “Sit anywhere you want. The usual, right?”

Sehun arrived five minutes past six just in time his bowl of _bibim naengmyeon_ was delivered. Jongin watched him and Jinki trade pleasantries and conversed for a moment. Only after Jinki was called to attention by a customer did Sehun flash him a soft, fond smile that never failed in warming him all over. He unrolled the scarf around his neck once, twice, then folded and set it aside. Complained about the biting cold outside; brought up other topics after, such as funny antics by co-teachers and anecdotes from today’s classes.

Jongin smiled listening to Sehun talk, even if the topic revolved on his dilemma about whether he should pass or fail one of his problem students.

Sehun must’ve noticed the oddness of this seemingly one-sided conversation because he asked, cautious but curious, “Did something happen at work?”

“You know how we keep conducting time travel experiments using mannequins in the past months? I told you those were successes, remember? Today we’ve concluded the time machine is ready for bigger things.”

“Really? That’s great!” Sehun broke out into a smile, genuine delight etched on his face. “Your team’s hard work is paying off.”

“It is, yeah,” Jongin agreed, nod too mechanical for his liking. He set his chopsticks aside, wiping his hands up and down the fabric of his jeans. His eyes scrutinized every corner of a famous actor’s framed autograph hung on the wall beside them even if he’d seen it a hundred times up close already. “Professor Jo volunteered himself for the ultimate time travel experiment.”

He dared look Sehun’s way, whose eyes never left him.

“Something else is bothering you.”

The observation hovered above them like a slow-passing cloud, the unasked question ringing loud in Jongin’s ears. Jongin knew Sehun was waiting for him to either come clean or put it off for later. Sehun was always like that, never pushing him to do anything he wasn’t sure of or didn’t want to, on the basis of trusting he would share it with him once he was prepared.

Jongin was grateful every single time, but it also made this a hundred times harder.

With the grown lump lodged in his throat making it impossible to push the words past it, Jongin procured the violet envelope from his bag and slid it toward Sehun across the table.

Sehun said nothing at the sight of the envelope. He also said nothing when he opened and read what it contained. His silence unnerved Jongin, eyes so focused on him he refused to blink in case he missed a change in Sehun’s countenance, something that would hint at his thoughts.

Sehun folded the form and returned it inside the envelope. Propped it up against his glass of water. Stared at it in pensive silence.

“It will be an honor for anyone to participate in the experiment.”

Jongin remained quiet but nodded, waiting to see how things would play out.

A few beats of silence later:

“This wasn’t the birthday present I expected.”

Jongin breathed out a sigh of relief at the lack of bitterness, but the forced smile on Sehun’s face at his weak attempt in lightening the mood hurt far more than whatever explosive reaction Jongin had braced himself for. Jongin reached out for Sehun’s hand and held it between his own, squeezing hard when he noticed the misty quality Sehun’s eyes took.

“I’m sorry.”

Jongin wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for; wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to say at the moment, or if he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He squeezed Sehun’s hand harder, hoping it would convey the comfort he wanted to give. He didn’t want Sehun to be sad, but he couldn’t do much himself when he was in a similar state, too.

Sehun squeezed back after a torturous minute of silence, though his eyes darted everywhere else except at him.

Jongin kept close watch on Sehun throughout dinner. This time he led the conversations, but the stretches of silence reigned longer than he would have liked.

The silence stayed with them through their trip home. They kissed each other good night at bedtime, but even in the comfort of Sehun’s arms that always lulled him to sleep, Jongin’s mind remained painfully awake.

Painfully awake even hours later that Jongin felt Sehun slowly peel himself away from his hold. Heard the opening of the closet and the rustling of clothing; heard the soft, padded footsteps walking out of the room and their apartment.

Jongin’s palm lay on the vacant space, soaking up the leftover warmth. The clock showed him 2:43 A.M when he exerted the effort to lift his head and check. Jongin wasn’t too worried about Sehun sneaking out, especially at ungodly hours. It had always been one of Sehun’s ways of coping with whatever was troubling him. Usually, he just wandered around the neighborhood in his pajamas; sometimes drank a cup of coffee before returning.

Sehun’s pajamas folded neatly and deposited on the chair by the dresser told Jongin he’d gone on a run, instead: something he was prone to doing during more trying times.

The thought triggered a twinge of pain in his chest, but giving Sehun space to sort his mind and being there for him when he was ready to talk was the best solution in this situation. Experience as long-time friends and lovers taught him this.

Jongin stared at the ceiling, an arm draped across his forehead. He could brew himself tea and wait for Sehun’s return; initiate the talk if he was willing, work in a few hours be damned. Or he could join Sehun in his run, knowing his routes by heart.

Next thing he realized, the door was creaking open, rousing him not to full wakefulness but aware enough for him to hear the muted sound of the shower and sensing the dipping of the mattress. Jongin must’ve dozed off for a considerable length of time if Sehun had already returned. The faint, pleasant scent of mango tickled Jongin’s nose, but it didn’t stop him from staring at Sehun’s back, eyes tracing the broadness of his shoulders and how sad it looked even with insufficient lighting.

Jongin strained his ears for a clue on Sehun’s state. Tested it further by placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Waited.

A hand above his own. Not gripping, not prying it off. A silent permission so Jongin could erase the space between them and mold himself to Sehun’s back, wasting no time in wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close. He buried his face in the crook of Sehun’s neck. Breathed in his scent.

Sehun hummed and shifted just the slightest so he could lean back more. His hand relocated to Jongin’s arm, palm stroking on the skin in a comforting manner.

“Let’s go on a trip before my birthday.” Sehun’s voice was so soft, as if scared he was breaking the sacredness of silence in this hour. “I don’t care if I have to fight with my superiors about taking leave so early into the school year. I’m sure they’ll allow you to take leave for a long weekend?”

Jongin’s chest squeezed at the hopefulness behind his words but didn’t respond.

“Let’s pretend they will,” Sehun continued. “Let’s go to the seaside. I know it’s not quite sunny as you want it since spring isn’t here yet; but you like it better that way. A day with weather that’s just right. We’ll eat all the seafood, visit the tourist spots and act like the part, too. We’ll take pictures, of course. I’ll only let you take them if you don’t use your awful filters.”

Jongin bit back a laugh and allowed himself a minute smile.

Sehun chuckled, like he knew how he’d react. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll let you use your favorite Peach Punch, but don’t talk back if I complain about the terrible quality. Okay, maybe you can take one picture with it. Just one, all right? It would be a good thing to look back on when I want to see your face.”

Jongin pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

“You know, I saw a shooting star a while ago when I stopped for a break near the flower shop. You’ve told me before shooting stars are dead stars, but remember how we were taught as children to make a wish when we see one?” Drowsiness began coating Sehun’s words. “I know it’s silly, but do you think it will listen once and grant us more time together? Would it be selfish of me to…?”

The rest of Sehun’s words became a mumbled, jumbled mess as his breathing evened out, the last of his words lost to the darkness of the room. His hand gradually stopped its ministrations, now a comfortable weight on top of Jongin’s arm.

Jongin tightened his hold on Sehun, pleading for sleep to come claim him, too, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the crushing weight pressing down on his chest.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin shielded his eyes from the sun, shivering from the breeze brushing across the skin of his nape and calves. Seawater licked at his ankles as he stood in the overlap, slippers abandoned somewhere behind him for a better feel of the sand beneath the soles of his feet. The weather hadn’t completely cast away the winter chill despite its transition into spring weeks ago, so past ten in the morning at the beach didn’t promise Jongin the warm day he expected. Good thing he had the foresight of wearing a long-sleeved shirt or he would have stayed behind at the hotel until his body agreed with the outdoor temperature.

Sehun tried and failed in spinning the small, inflatable ball they’d brought with them on the tip of his forefinger, catching it with clumsy hands every time it slipped from his hold. The cold didn’t seem to bother him, proven by the sleeveless shirt he opted for earlier this morning.

“Aren’t we just in luck? There are only ten people around, including us, so it’s like we have the beach to ourselves. The sun’s high up, the waves aren’t too big—perfect weather for fun and games.”

Jongin caught the glint of mischief in his eyes. Sehun’s spontaneous ideas seldom inspired good outcomes.

“No.”

“No to what? I haven’t said anything yet.” Sehun pouted.

Jongin smothered the start of a laugh before it could escape. Teasing Sehun always came easy. He schooled his face into one of nonchalance and said in his most neutral voice, “I have an idea, but fine; let’s hear it.”

Sehun tossed the ball mid-air and struck it with enough force to send it flying a good distance away from where they stood. The ball landed with a satisfying splash, moving in random directions every time the waves pushed it.

“First one to retrieve the ball _and_ return to shore gets free lunch.”

“I was right. No.” Jongin turned away from Sehun and trudged along the length of the shoreline, muffling a snicker into his shirt sleeve at Sehun’s whine.

“Aw, c’mon; don’t be a spoilsport. We came all the way to Naksan and you won’t even swim?” Sehun complained behind him.

“It’s too cold for a swim, Sehun. I also have no intention of getting wet. If this is your best tactic to weasel your way out of paying— _hey!_ ”

For a heart-stopping second, Jongin thought he lost his footing when his right foot never met the sand. In a nanosecond, Sehun hoisted him into his arms and tossed him into the water. Jongin shouted in surprise, limbs flailing about and landing on his ass. Water soaked through his shorts right away, the sleeves and hem of his shirt meeting the same fate. His only consolation from the shocking turn of events was the lack of rocks on his landing spot. When his mind finally caught up and processed what happened, he stared wide-eyed and jaw hung open in disbelief at a cackling Sehun, who was clutching his sides from the hilarity.

“You have no excuse not to swim now!”

Jongin replied by flinging his ruined shirt to Sehun’s face and wading the best he could toward the neglected ball. “That free lunch is mine!” he yelled behind his shoulder. With a gulp of oxygen and courage, he lowered himself fully into the ice-cold waters and swam.

Much later, after changing out of their wet clothes and finding a seafood restaurant near the hotel, Jongin watched Sehun grilling prawns and abalone without complaint. While delighted at the prospect of winning free lunch, Jongin knew Sehun let him win on purpose. It was a close fight: the ball was within Jongin’s reach, but a small wave changed its course so it drifted by Sehun’s elbow. Jongin might not have the best eyesight, but there was no mistake seeing Sehun pushing the ball to his direction with a not-so-subtle flick of a finger underwater.

Jongin broke a crab leg and fed its meat to Sehun. “You’re so quiet. Where are you?”

Sehun glanced at him as he chewed. He transferred the abalones to the plate and turned the prawns over. “Do you think they have dogs in the 22nd century?”

Jongin shot him a weird look. “I don’t think they’ll go extinct anytime soon.”

“You never know. There could be millions of them here but not a trace of them in the future.” Sehun scooped an abalone from its shell with a spoon, blew on it a few times, and fed it to Jongin. “If dogs still exist, you should get one.”

Jongin chewed slow, taking the chance to choose his words carefully. Sehun never brought up anything related to time travel since he submitted the form, though he always lent a ready ear to listen to Jongin’s rambles about it.

“I’d love to, but I’m not sure if I can take care of it well, much less have time for it. Who knows what my life will be like in the future, in the first place?” Jongin helped Sehun peel off the prawns’ shells. “But if it’s possible, I might get one. I could use the company.”

“Right?” Sehun directed an “I told you” look at him. “It will keep you company and remind you not to work too hard. I’m thinking of adopting one later on, but I’m undecided on breeds. I’ll research more on it. Do you think our kids will get along on their first meeting when you come back?”

Jongin didn’t detect an ounce of forced optimism in Sehun’s tone, causing him to smile. “We’ll find a way to make it work if they don’t.”

Sehun catalogued the rest of their day using his phone. He snapped away at quaint sceneries, random objects at odd angles (Jongin seldom understood these shots, though Sehun would argue he wasn’t looking hard enough), the occasional stray animal he thought cute, the mandatory selca, and the couple photos. Jongin took pictures for his personal collection, too, but he let Sehun take charge by passing him his phone. They didn’t argue about filters, but Jongin secretly used it while taking an array of selcas on Sehun’s phone and transferring them to a new folder he labeled, “ _for when you miss me._ ”

Their wandering lasted until sundown and returned to the hotel with aching calves and feet but with a sated wanderlust. The hotel only had a handful of guests checked in since it wasn’t beach season yet, so they had the restaurant all to themselves at Jongin’s declaration of a sudden craving for tea.

“Why didn’t you order tea in the noodle shop? It’s listed on their menu,” Sehun pointed out, but without annoyance.

“They have special tea here.”

Sehun grabbed the menu from its wooden holder, scanning its contents. “Green, black, red, chamomile, jasmine, ginger, chrysanthemum, mint—they’ve plenty of choices, but I don’t see anything about special tea. Does it have another name?”

“N-none that I know of.”

Jongin swore at himself for stammering.

Sehun fixed Jongin with a stare, eyes narrowing in the passing seconds.

“What are you hiding?”

They flinched in unison at the sudden sound of confetti poppers setting off, followed by the entrance of the hotel staff singing the happy birthday song in joyous voices while approaching their table. The manager carried a tray of chocolate cake in her hands, two long candles stuck in the center surrounded by seven small ones in the shape of a heart.

Jongin clapped with the hotel staff after the last line, reveling in the sight of Sehun covering his face with both of his hands, crinkled eyes peeking just above his fingers. Years of knowing each other told him Sehun wasn’t mortified in the slightest; overwhelmed, yes, and probably shy at the sudden attention showered on him.

“You planned this!” The statement lacked real heat, proven by the twitching of the corners of Sehun’s mouth as if fending off a smile, but the radiance in his eyes was a dead giveaway of his true feelings.

Jongin took pride in causing it.

The idea of surprising Sehun only came to him after their first return to the hotel. The original plan was spending a quiet evening together, but Jongin changed his mind when he overheard a pair of honeymooners asking the receptionist for café recommendations. He told the manager his situation and schemed with her. Though he regretted the surprise wasn’t on the fancier end, it didn’t matter because Sehun was smiling his widest yet since their arrival this morning.

Sehun kept two slices of cake for them, giving away the rest to the staff. “So what else should I brace myself for?” he asked, feeding Jongin a forkful.

“Give me the strawberry and I’ll show you,” Jongin said around a mouthful of cake.

Sehun eyed the opaque paper bag Jongin held out to him once they returned to their room. Jongin watched Sehun squeeze the bag on all sides, the crisp, rustling sounds filling in the silence. Sehun’s brows furrowed the more he dug his fingers into the paper. Jongin could almost hear the cogs of his mind whirring in contemplation.

“I’m not sure, but it feels”—Sehun squeezed it harder this time—“real soft. Kinda light, too.”

Surprise stole across Sehun’s face at the baby blue knitted turtleneck he pulled out from the bag. He ran his fingers across the cable design on the front; rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger. Joy soon invaded his features, but he huffed in mock annoyance as he asked, in the same tone, “Did you really buy this for me or for yourself?”

Jongin caught the obvious joke and laughed. “Turtlenecks are comfy and warm and perfect for winter, spring, and autumn, okay. See—three seasons! You get your money’s worth that way!”

“Of course you would think that when picking out a present,” Sehun retorted, pairing it with an eye roll, but this time he didn’t hold back on the smile. He didn’t let go of the turtleneck, either, running his hands all over the front and back.

“I picked this one on purpose so your neck would have breathing space. You keep clawing at your throat every time you wear turtlenecks, and I don’t want you not wearing something I’ve given you.” Jongin inched closer so no space remained between them. “When I saw this on display the first time, I knew it would look good on you, so I bought it.”

Sehun angled his head so he could shoot Jongin an incredulous look in jest. “Who are you, and what have you done to my fashion-challenged boyfriend?”

Jongin pinched Sehun’s waist in retaliation. Sehun laughed, swatting his hand away, and then kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you for the present. I love it. I already have a couple of ensembles in mind I’d like to try with it. You had better developed an improved fashion sense on your return, though.”

“Need I remind you that you didn’t date me for my lack of fashion sense?”

Sehun nodded. “True. You just couldn’t resist me even if you tried.”

Jongin shoved at Sehun’s shoulder, then grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked it on the back of his head. Sehun just laughed, but he snatched the pillow and smacked back harder. Jongin’s cheeks hurt from grinning and laughing too much evading Sehun’s attacks and launching his own, but he didn’t care.

Two hours to midnight, Jongin showered and lounged on the bed with a book in hand. He found nothing of interest on television, and browsing the internet appealed little to him right now. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down and enjoyed a good book, but he’d been catching up on his reading since his leave. The hectic nature of his job prevented him from finishing even the shortest novel he owned, and with the impending experiment, he couldn’t say if taking a breather would be possible on their arrival.

Sehun emerged from the bathroom clad in a pair of black boxers. He wandered his way to the foot of the bed and dried his hair with the towel slung across his shoulder. Jongin glanced his way, watching the water drip from the tips of Sehun’s hair, some straying down his collarbones and chest.

“Which Higashino Keigo novel is that?”

“ _Malice_.” Jongin speed read the last three paragraphs before tossing the book aside and crawled his way over. He tugged at Sehun’s wrist until he sat down. Jongin stood on his knees and dried his hair for him. “I’m working my way through the Detective Kaga series again.”

Sehun’s nod was almost lost from how vigorous Jongin was rubbing his hair. “The one I gave you?”

Jongin hummed in affirmation. Sehun gifted him a secondhand copy many years prior, though he wouldn’t have needed it if not for his carelessness. Dozing off from school-induced exhaustion back then made him forget he was reading it on the journey home and only remembered he was supposed to be holding a book when he alighted at his station.

“Would hard copies of books still be available in the 22nd century? Or would e-readers have taken their place?” Sehun wondered aloud with childlike curiosity. “I worry you’ll give up on reading if or when that happens. You don’t like reading from e-readers, but you can watch YouTube videos for hours straight on a phone. The irony.”

Jongin chuckled. “I’ll find my way around it. I plan on taking the book with me, anyway.”

They segued into silence, unbothered by the lack of conversation. Jongin concentrated on drying Sehun’s hair, pausing on occasion to run his fingers through it. Another two minutes before Jongin was satisfied, though neither of them moved away from each other despite announcing he was done.

Sehun dropped his head on Jongin’s shoulder, curling an arm around him and pulled him closer. Jongin responded not with a question but by pressing his cheek atop Sehun’s head. One hand on Sehun’s shoulder helped keep him upright, the other finding its place on his nape and stroked the fine hair there.

“If I had a choice, I wouldn’t let you leave.”

Jongin held his breath at the blunt confession.

“But stopping you would make you unhappy, and that’s the last thing I want to happen. Many may not understand why I encourage you to chase after something without guarantee of a favorable result, but that’s all right. What matters is we both understand each other. I know this means a lot to you—it’s all you’ve ever dreamed of, all you’ve ever poured your dedication and hard work to. Those are reasons enough for me to accept your decision.”

“And what about you?” Jongin surprised himself when the question left his mouth, but it was no use not continuing when he’d already started. “You’re always so understanding and accommodating, and I’m grateful each time. But I know even if you don’t say it: my decision is hurting you more than what you’re letting on.”

“It _does_ hurt,” Sehun admitted, without hesitation, without resentment. “It hurts, and I don’t know when it will stop hurting, but there’s no pain I can’t and won’t endure for you. Not when I believe you’ll come back to me one day.”

“Sehun—”

Jongin was silenced by a finger gently pressed upon his lips. In Sehun’s eyes he saw an unwavering determination burning bright and extinguishing his doubts.

“The experiment proves time travel to the future is possible, even if it took decades, so the reverse shouldn’t be impossible. The future might possess the necessary technology for it.”

Jongin thought of countering his point, but he would let Sehun have this if it meant softening the blow of the looming plausibility they might be separated forever once the experiment was conducted. Today should be dedicated to celebrating happiness, not drowning in the sadness they’d been trying hard to stave off.

Jongin cupped Sehun’s cheek and drew him in for a soft, chaste kiss. “I’ll find a way. I’ll work double—no, thrice as hard. Wouldn’t want to make you wait for a long time.”

“You better not,” Sehun said, faking a stern tone. He nuzzled his cheek against Jongin’s hand, fingers gingerly taking hold of his wrist so he could press his lips against it.

Jongin leaned in for another kiss, this time more intense than the last.

“Wait for me,” he murmured against Sehun’s lips.

Sehun responded by kissing him again, until Jongin could think of nothing but him and his all-encompassing warmth.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Sehun straightened Jongin’s shirt collar, palms sliding along his shoulders and lingering by his upper arms. “Did you forget anything?”

Jongin picked at the stray lint from Sehun’s turtleneck and shook his head with a smile. “I checked and double checked before we left home.”

He pulled his head back and admired Sehun for a moment. He was right: baby blue suited him a lot. The early morning sunlight cast an almost ethereal glow about him, the usual sharpness of his features softened under it and bestowing a more boyish countenance.

They walked away from the parking lot and into the institute. Outsiders were normally forbidden from stepping foot inside except on special events. Today was one of those exceptions, ordered by Professor Jo himself, so the volunteers’ loved ones would witness the experiment with their own eyes.

The laboratory was abuzz with energy and a subdued sort of excitement. Jongin spotted Professor Jo talking to his wife and kids on one side. His youngest child of five years had tiny arms circled around his neck, hiccupping as fat tears rolled down reddened cheeks. Jongin recalled Professor Jo’s fondness for his youngest child, face always lighting up every time he shared snippets between conducting experiments and waiting for results.

Professor Jo used a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears on his child’s face. Jongin wondered if the child would understand Professor Jo’s decision in the later years, or resent him for leaving in the name of science. Wondered if his own niece and nephew would ask about the uncle who left them with warm hugs and smothered their cheeks with kisses during their toddler years but never saw him around since.

Wondered if his family would continuously miss him, think about him, but ultimately move on with their lives until he was nothing more than a time-worn memory.

After taking his time with each family member and resisting the urge to tear up numerous times, Jongin returned to Sehun’s side and laced their fingers. Sehun’s gaze was trained on the time machine and the many mechanics and physicists surrounding it.

“So you enter the machine and that’s it? You’re off to the future? How does it happen? Does the bottom open up and you fall down? Or does a vacuum suck you from above?” Fascination colored Sehun’s voice.

Jongin chuckled. “Neither. You just disappear.”

“Volunteers for the time travel experiment, please take your stations. The machine is now ready,” the new head of the research team announced, voice echoing in the laboratory.

A junior researcher ushered the family members outside, informing them they would watch the experiment by looking in from a glass window.

Jongin tugged at their locked hands so he and Sehun stood facing each other. Their gazes met and held, broken only by the light rap of Sehun’s knuckles on Jongin’s forehead.

“Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Jongin let out a small laugh. He stepped closer and traced his thumb on the apple of Sehun’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Sehun. I’m going now. Take care of yourself.”

“That’s my line, you know.”

The kiss they shared seemed to last a lifetime but ended too soon for Jongin’s liking. Soon Sehun was pulling away with an obvious reluctance, taking a tiny step back, another, and another, disentangling their fingers with torturous slowness.

Between them, Jongin was unsure of who was squeezing harder, and who was reluctant to let go.

Jongin pressed his lips together in an effort to fend off the emotions clawing their way to the surface; stave off the strong urge to follow Sehun after the separation of their pinkies. He seared the memory of Sehun waving at him with his lips pulled into a smile, mouthing “See you later” before he was out of the laboratory.

Jongin and his two other companions filed inside the booth, the doors sliding close behind them with a sense of finality. The loud, dull sound reverberated in Jongin’s ears, heartbeat speeding up and excitement sluicing through his veins. Above the doors lit up a digital timer, numbers frozen on sixty seconds. A robotic voice announced their destination via coordinates, city and country, followed by the year. Countdown would begin shortly.

Jongin snuck a glance at his companions. Professor Jo’s face betrayed nothing of what he felt or thought, eyes fixed on the timer. The head physicist offered him a weak smile, apprehension lining his face a contrast to the eagerness in his eyes. Each carried a bag containing what Jongin guessed were belongings they couldn’t bear part from. He carried his own, too, in a backpack he hadn’t used since university days, shocking Sehun when he dug it out of the closet. If not for his fear of losing his cherished items, Jongin would’ve used a paper bag.

“Gentlemen,” Professor Jo spoke. “We’re minutes away from traveling to a point of improbable return. I commend you for your bravery in volunteering. I understand it wasn’t an easy to decision to make, considering the huge risks attached, so I will give you one last chance to withdraw before it happens.”

A tense silence hung in the air, broken by Jongin speaking up first. “I’m determined to see this experiment to the end. My mind has long been made up. I’m not backing out.”

He commended himself for the steadiness of his voice; for crushing the nagging whisper at the back of his mind attempting to rouse the slumbering doubt. Jongin had gone so far, his biggest dream at the tips of his fingers. Stopping now would equate to flushing years of hard work down the drain, and he was anything but wasteful.

“My thoughts exactly,” the head physicist agreed.

Professor Jo cast them a scrutinizing look and broke out into a soft smile. He signaled to the person in charge outside and gave them a thumbs-up.

A pushed button. A resounding ping. The hum of the machines outside generating the required amount of electricity. The frozen sixty seconds on the panel counting backward.

The same robotic voice announcing: “Time travel: initiated.”

The entire box shook violently as if wanting to unhinge itself from its screws and cables. Jongin placed a hand flat on the wall as a safety precaution. In place of the original countdown now showed the current year. The rightmost digit scrolled up, up, speeding up the higher the numbers reached. Jongin kept his eyes peeled open, too nervous to blink.

The final but most powerful shake sparked a throbbing ache at the back of Jongin’s head. Lava-hot pain zipped down his spine and sent him to his knees, a strangled cry leaving his lips. He reached out for Professor Jo, the head physicist, _anyone_ who could help him and take the pain away, but the assault on his body was too much. He lowered himself to the ground, clutching at his torso, then the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut and taking several deep breaths.

Jongin rolled onto his back in search of relief, breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. When he blinked, the numbers “2101” flashed on the panel before white ate away at his vision.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin blinked again, and the panel was replaced by the LED lights of his bathroom.

He squeezed his eyes shut from the blinding brightness and almost regretted gaining consciousness, for with it came the excruciating pain from slipping on the tiles and the back of his head colliding with the sink. Though the fog in his mind hadn’t cleared completely, he remembered hearing the sickening thud before collapsing on the floor. He remembered the faint, coppery scent assaulting his nose and the growing stickiness spreading underneath his head before passing out.

He wished he could peel himself off the floor, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand tons. Even if his mind willed it, his limbs remained unmoving and uselessly sprawled out to his sides. His heartbeat roared with a deafening loudness in his ears. The sinking realization he might not be able to walk—much less _crawl_ —out of his bathroom and call for an ambulance at the mounting numbness foretold his impending fate.

A mirthless laugh dribbled out of Jongin’s mouth. Never in his wildest imagination did he picture a bathroom accident at seventy-odd years would be his way to go.

He didn’t wonder anymore why his life before the experiment played in his mind like a long, pleasant dream. He knew he shouldn’t close his eyes no matter what, but the exhaustion was overpowering. Breathing was becoming a chore, lungs hurting with each inhale and exhale. He prided himself in his ability to resist temptation, but it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a few moments, right?

It wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes and see Sehun again, to feel his arms around him while murmuring assurances into his hair, right?

Jongin didn’t fight the curve of his mouth upward, or the drooping of his eyes, but he caught himself at the last second and blinked, instead.

The LED lights were really too harsh on his poor eyes.

Jongin blinked again, and then his eyes weren’t hurting anymore.

The pain disappeared together with his bathroom lights. He was still looking at the ceiling, but the light coming from the fluorescent bulbs were far gentler—and left him in awe.

He hadn’t seen fluorescent bulbs in _years_.

Jongin wriggled in place, flailing his arms and kicking his legs. His limbs didn’t feel like his own, even if they were attached to him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Gathering enough strength, he rolled over to his side and onto his belly—

—and froze at his four-month old reflection in the adjacent wall mirror of his parents’ old room staring right back at him.

His trance broke when his mother entered the room, looking way younger than he remembered and panicked at this observation. She swaddled him in blankets as she picked him up and cradled him in her arms with the utmost care and affection. Jongin opened his mouth in protest, but the words came out unintelligible. His mother must’ve interpreted his noise as one of fussiness, so she sang the lullaby he recognized too well—the one she always used to put him to sleep during his early childhood days.

Jongin couldn’t understand what was happening or why, but he was certain this was a phenomenon even the smartest, most knowledgeable of scientists couldn’t explain.

To his surprise, he was named and raised as Kim Jongin, born on the same wintry fourteenth of January in the year 1994. His family members were still the same baker father, nurse mother, and two older sisters. He spent the first six years of his life in the sunny seaside of Suncheon before his father decided on a permanent move to Seoul.

 _Just like before,_ Jongin noted, looking around the bare walls of his new room in the same house he would spend his teenage years growing up in.

And just like before, his parents believed their children shouldn’t dedicate their life to academics, so they persuaded him to attend extracurricular activities. Moving to the capital opened up more opportunities for them, if not greater, including anything Jongin might want to cultivate an interest in. His parents suggested taekwondo, piano, and swimming, but he found these boring after attending one class and voiced his dissatisfaction. His parents never forced him to attend a second time, but they also didn’t give up looking for something he might like to do on the side.

The world of dancing opened a new world for him after attending a cousin’s ballet recital. For the first time, he watched boys his age glide across the floor and leap in the air with an effortless grace he never knew was possible. Jongin couldn’t stop talking about the performance for days and, to their delight, asked his parents where he could learn how to dance like them.

Ballet classes kept Jongin preoccupied in the coming years, finding genuine enjoyment in each lesson and always showing off to his family what he learned that day. He would daydream about new routines and picture himself taking part in recitals, tingling with excitement at the thought of bright lights and grand stages. At this point in his life, Jongin was sure he would walk down the path of a dancer: a complete turnaround from his scientist career.

Then he discovered the sci-fi novel responsible for introducing time travel to him at age twelve.

Jongin dragged slow fingertips across the cover, overwhelmed with nostalgia he couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t own a copy of this novel, but seeing and holding it in his hands once more brought back fond memories. He remembered not holding any expectations, even with the promising synopsis; but he fell in love after the first chapter and borrowed it numerous times, never reading anything else for months.

He opened the book and fell in love again, lost in the world built by words he surprisingly still knew by heart. Plunging deeper into the novel helped Jongin realize the science used for the time travel aspect was wholly questionable, bordering on ridiculous, especially now that he was armed with higher knowledge and saw through the loopholes. Despite the shortcomings, Jongin truly enjoyed the novel for its entertainment value, sometimes cooking up his own ideas of how he would write a time travel story, if given the chance.

Could he consider what happened to him as time travel? Time travel to the past was only proven possible a few years ago, but it didn’t involve reliving your life from the start.

Jongin mulled over this on his walk home. Instead of the usual route, he took a detour that led him to a small park. It would take ten minutes longer, but Jongin liked variety in his otherwise mundane life. He hopped over the white lines painted on the pavement as a means of entertaining himself; tapped each newly-bloomed flower he could touch. At the end of the flower bed he would take a left turn, but his eyes strayed to the direction of an undisturbed, unfenced pond.

A lone paper boat floated among the lily pads, sticking out in its pristine white glory against the vibrant green of their leaves. A boy around his age was crouched by the edge of the pond, outstretched arm reaching for the boat but failing. Jongin stood jaw-slacked and rooted to his spot watching the struggling boy’s attempts in retrieving the paper boat.

The boy reached as far as he could, close, closer, fingertips grazing the boat.

The boat escaped his touch.

The boy fell into the pond with a splash.

Jongin took off in an instant, jumping into the pond without a second thought. His feet found solid ground, but his body wasn’t sinking further like expected, for some strange reason.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked, standing waist deep in the pond, eyes wide and perplexed. His entire form was soused, murky water staining his white shirt. The paper boat lay soggy and beyond repair between his cupped hands.

Jongin stared at him in shock, mouth open but no words coming out. He might be soaked from the waist down, but the cold couldn’t numb him from the heat flaring in his cheeks.

“I… I thought you couldn’t swim. I didn’t know the pond wasn’t deep,” he found himself saying what he’d said a long time ago in this precise moment.

The boy’s eyebrows met in the middle, shooting him a look of disbelief. Pushed back his wet hair and smiled.

“You’re so weird,” he commented, hidden laughter bubbling from his words.

Jongin laughed first, although his mind raced with so many questions seasoned in confusion.

This was his first meeting with Sehun, and it played out _exactly_ how it happened so many years ago.

Throughout ballet class, Jongin couldn’t stop thinking about this weird coincidence— _if_ he could even label it as such. Was he truly reliving his life over again? He bore his original identity, all his memories of his life intact. He was the furthest from believing in reincarnation, for that entailed being reborn with a different name and, oftentimes, a fragmented memory. He could probably buy the theory of being transported to an alternate world when he was hovering between life and death, but it would always lead back to the most important question of _why_.

His second meeting with Sehun occurred three days after the first. Sehun sat by the edge of the pond, busy folding paper boats. Jongin predicted this, though it didn’t stop him from approaching and saying hello; didn’t stop him from presenting Sehun a paper boat he’d folded the night before as a gift. He used the _kami_ left over from his origami-obsessed days, but the sheer awe on Sehun’s face was worth the hour he spent searching for it in his boxes of belongings.

“Why are you giving this to me?” Sehun asked, cradling the paper boat in his hands like a precious treasure.

Jongin shrugged. “You looked so sad when your paper boat got ruined, I thought of folding you one.”

Sehun blinked at him; once, twice. Grinned.

“You’re so weird.”

 _As expected,_ Jongin thought, grinning back.

Some days Sehun didn’t show up, but Jongin wasn’t too saddened by his absence. On days he _did_ see Sehun, they folded paper boats together and released them to the pond. The paper boats never stayed afloat for long, always meeting a drenched, mushy demise. Sehun wasn’t deterred, but once the novelty wore off, he confessed he wished he could fold other paper things.

“A paper frog could keep the lily pads company,” Jongin mused aloud.

“Can you fold paper frogs?” Sehun blinked at him in wonder.

“I can teach you, if you want.”

Jongin guided Sehun every step of the way, never tiring in teaching him. Sehun followed his instructions but careless mistakes cost him irreversible creases and tested his patience. Once, Sehun just gave up completely and crumpled the half-finished frog, collapsing onto his back on the grass and kicking his legs in frustration.

“Forget it, I’m not folding a frog anymore,” Sehun whined, scowling at nothing.

Jongin chuckled. “You can do it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Sehun’s bottom lip jutted out and formed a pout. Shrugged and placed his hands behind his head, left foot resting on his right knee. “You don’t know that.”

Jongin held himself back from saying anything more, but he wasn’t worried in the slightest. If he was indeed walking through an identical course of his childhood, May of 2006 wouldn’t be the last time he could spend lazy afternoon days with Sehun by the pond before academia and ballet classes invaded his life.

Reuniting as freshmen in the same middle school proved it.

Sehun’s flabbergasted face on their hallway encounter remained as hilarious as it was the first time.

Belonging to different classes didn’t stand in the way of their friendship, despite their interactions being limited to lunchtime chats in the corridor or short greetings as they passed by each other. Chances of walking together to the bus stop seldom cropped up—Jongin’s weakness for libraries remained strong, consistent. He often stayed behind after his last class and read his free hours away until he had to leave for ballet class.

On a rare occasion when his ballet teacher canceled class, Jongin spotted Sehun exit the gym on his way out of the library. Sehun was adjusting the strap of his bag, gaze on the ground before he lifted them and smiled upon seeing him. Jongin smiled back and waved.

“Do you hang out in the library often?” Sehun asked, walking alongside Jongin. He volunteered information first, telling Jongin of his brief return to hand over a friend’s towel and water bottle. Said friend had requested Sehun to keep them for him until basketball practice but forgot about it in his rush.

Jongin kept a smile to himself, already knowing Sehun’s reason before he said it. Sehun would use this same reason later on for their bus stop walks together two times a week for the entirety of their freshman year.

“Yes, because I like to read,” he said, instead, but it was true.

“I don’t really read books,” Sehun said, expression thoughtful. “I only touch them when it’s near exams. Is reading fun?”

Jongin nodded. “I’ve been doing it for a long time. That, and paper craft. How is your folding of paper frogs, by the way?”

“Awful.” Sehun frowned. “I tried folding it like you showed me, but it doesn’t come out as good as yours. Maybe I should give up on it. It’s not my thing.”

“I could teach you something simpler first. We can return to the paper frog after?”

Sehun seemed hesitant, but he nodded with a tiny smile. “Okay.”

They established a routine of holding an origami session once a week in Sehun’s favorite bubble tea shop and spent hours creating wondrous shapes out of simple paper. Jongin cheered Sehun up if what he folded hardly resembled what he was supposed to make; laughed and smiled with him at each successful creation. Sometimes, for fun, they would doodle on their paper figures and create stories out of them.

“I think I can challenge folding a paper frog now,” Sehun announced randomly three months later.

Jongin handed him a piece of kami without further commentary. In two of those three months, Jongin showed Sehun repeated demonstrations of folding paper frogs, though he seemed content in just watching and produced other animals with his materials. However, Jongin was sure those two months of watching weren’t for naught.

Two failed attempts before Sehun perfected it on the third, throwing his arms up in the air and whooping in joy at the birth of his first, perfectly-folded paper frog. His noise alone snatched the attention of the other customers in the bubble tea shop.

Jongin didn’t even bother looking at the curious onlookers, too enthralled by Sehun’s grin.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin ignored the beeping of his phone, unable to put down the time travel novel his eldest sister gave him. Whoever it was could wait.

He regretted this decision two hours later when he ushered a disgruntled and freezing Sehun into his house.

Jongin apologized profusely for making him wait. He shouldn’t find the situation funny, but he couldn’t help poking fun at the redness of Sehun’s nose behind his scarf and his complaints of the cold punctuated by chattering teeth.

“You could’ve rang the bell and spared yourself,” Jongin told him gently. He made Sehun sit on his heated bedroom floor and wrapped him up in the comforter he yanked off the bed. “Or you could’ve called me until I picked up.”

Sehun tightened the comforter around him, sighing in mixed relief and satisfaction before shooting Jongin a half-hearted glare. “This is you we’re talking about. Nothing can keep you away from your precious sleep or books during winter break. My phone would’ve died first before you noticed my calls or texts. Also, who was it that told me their doorbell was broken?”

Jongin laughed. “Guilty.” He noticed the tote paper bag Sehun brought in with him. “But why are you here? School isn’t in a week. If you’re thinking of copying my homework, tough luck; I haven’t started on it yet.”

“I’m hurt you think I’m only here to copy your wrong answers; but no, I dropped by so I could give you that.” Sehun jutted his chin to where the bag stood static between them.

Jongin held this particular memory close to his heart, but experiencing it again proved everything with Sehun would feel like a perpetual first time.

He removed the lid, mouth falling open in surprise, and then awe, at the seventeen cupcakes inside the box spelling out “Happy Birthday Jongin!” using an array of colorful frosting. A surge of affection welled up inside of him, strengthened by the thinly-concealed nervousness on Sehun’s face as he gauged his reaction with eager eyes.

Jongin held this particular memory close to his heart, for this was the first time Sehun went out of his way to celebrate his birthday with him.

They usually celebrated on the first day of school after winter break. Together with their friends, the practiced ritual of street food, arcade games, _noraebang_ showdowns, and photo booth commemorations originating from their middle school days had never been broken. Jongin enjoyed these sorts of celebrations best, but the cupcakes and Sehun’s random visit helped him understand for the first time how special he could feel on his birthday in a way so different from how family and friends treated him.

“Before you assume anything, I didn’t bake the cupcakes,” Sehun admitted, looking sheepish about it. “But I’ve heard good things about the bakery I bought it from, and the owner is a friend of my mother’s, so… if these are too sweet for you, more for me.”

“In your dreams,” Jongin retorted. They both laughed. “Where have you even heard of someone giving a present only to take it back? You already gave it to me, so it’s mine now.” Sobering up, he smiled at Sehun and said, with absolute sincerity, “Thank you for this, Sehun. I’ve never had someone aside from family celebrate my birthday with me on the day itself.”

Jongin thought it was the lighting playing tricks on his eyes the first time, but seeing the pink dusting Sehun’s cheeks ensured him he’d seen right all along and reveled in the fact he was capable of making him blush.

Sehun cleared his throat, feeling his pockets and producing a box of candles from them. “Is this what turning seventeen does to you? Unleash your cheesiness?” he joked.

Jongin couldn’t remember anymore what he wished for the first time, but he already made up his mind on what he wanted now. Believing in such fanciful customs wasn’t becoming of a man of science and clashed with his personal principles; yet he was willing to overlook it, if taking into account this bizarre case of living his life a second time with hardly any changes and zero answers to his questions.

Sehun maintained and would reiterate many years down the road that Jongin turning seventeen had permanently activated the cheese switch, starting from his planned birthday surprise in school. Jongin rounded their friends and told them his plan three weeks in advance, which proceeded to chipping in for ingredients and generating a mess in the spotless kitchen one free Saturday. Jongin was scared his father would scold them for ruining his sacred place, but he merely laughed and helped them out. They managed to salvage the cake before it became a charred, bitter mess; decorated it the best they could.

Jongin felt sorry every time Sehun looked sad or confused for not being in the know, but everything paid off at the genuine surprise appearing on his face when they sent him to the school rooftop and burst through the door singing a raucous, off-key version of the birthday song.

Sehun dissolved into helpless laughter when Jongin strode toward him carrying the cake with lit candles. Both hands covered his mouth, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking with laughter. He looked like he wanted to bolt from the scene in his mortification but also touched.

Each of their friends showered Sehun with their wishes, his smile growing with every passing second. On Jongin’s turn, he balanced the cake on one hand so he could grip Sehun’s shoulder with the freed one. Corners of his mouth twitching from barely-restrained amusement, he said, “Happy birthday, Sehun. You know I care for you a lot, right? I’m always here for you.”

“Why are you so cheesy?” was Sehun’s instant reply, face struggling to fix itself into one main expression, resulting in a new round of laughter from all of them and Jongin shoving him on the shoulder in jest.

Seventeen was also the age teachers ingrained into students’ minds about studying harder and leaving no room for anything else. It was the period results in everything mattered a great deal, where anything below the first rank was considered less than satisfactory. It was the period of cutthroat competition among peers and everyone their age nationwide of who deserved a spot in the top universities.

Seventeen was the age Jongin shelved his ballet gear and dreams of performing on stage, not because he’d given up on the dream but rather the complete shift in interest. Ballet had been a part of his formative years, providing him with joy like no other, but science started luring him in with its endless possibilities awaiting discovery. He could blame it on the countless time travel media he’d been introduced to and devoured, though he now had a far more important purpose on choosing science.

Jongin shoved the box at the back of his closet before he could dwell on the hollowness in his chest.

His phone alerted him of a new message.

 **Sehun  
** 4:30 PM  
_tteokbokki_

Jongin threw together his cleanest shirt and jeans in haste and dashed out of the house.

A bus and subway ride later brought him to Samcheong-dong’s familiar streets. He weaved through crowds and sidewalks until he stood in front of the _tteokbokki_ restaurant he and Sehun frequented together with their friends. The tteokbokki helped heal their academia-worn souls, especially helpful on stressful days when teachers picked on them for seemingly no reason and nagged about displeasing mock exam results. They considered it comfort food, their quickest pick-me-up after ten or so hellish hours staying cooped up in the classroom.

Jongin slid into the adjacent chair. His movements startled Sehun, who relaxed again as he resumed staring at the steaming pot of tteokbokki on the table with vacant eyes. They spent the next three minutes in silence, for even if Jongin already knew the purpose of this meet-up, he preferred Sehun opening up on his own volition.

Finally, Sehun’s mouth curved up, and it took everything for Jongin not to wince openly. Sehun’s smile only seemed to emphasize the tiredness marring his features. The bags under his eyes told Jongin of sleepless nights and untold troubles stewing in his mind.

“Sorry about this. You must’ve been busy studying.” Sehun’s voice lacked its usual vibrancy.

Jongin shook his head. “I needed to get out of the house, anyway.” He grabbed a pair of chopsticks and coaxed Sehun into eating before the food went cold.

Only after Sehun finished his first serving of tteokbokki did he talk.

“I can’t breathe in that house.”

Jongin chewed on a piece of _tteok_ as he gathered his thoughts. Sehun had been fighting a lot with his parents as of late concerning his studies. It affected Sehun more than he let on, apparent in the way he tensed when the bell signaled the end of the school day, brooding in his desk when he thought no one was around to see or ask questions, or when he joked about not heading home after _hagwon_.

“What did you fight about?”

“Same old.” Sehun expelled a long, deep sigh, shoulders slumped. “I told them I don’t think college is for me when they confronted me about my mock exam results. Again. They got angry. _Again_. They told me I was spouting nonsense when I told them I’d start working after getting my diploma. They said not a lot of places would hire a high school graduate, but a college degree and top honors don’t mean shit these days, too, if it can’t land you work anywhere.”

The bitterness and frustration lacing Sehun’s words was palpable, face pinched as if recalling the argument from earlier. Sehun often commented in passing how studying wasn’t for him during their middle school days; that even if he poured his everything into it, he’d only get average grades at best and might not even make it to a decent university. Entering high school worsened the pressure on him, chipping away at his enthusiasm every time teachers emphasized the importance of high marks and compared his more-or-less average performance to the top students.

Sehun seldom brought up these troubles burdening his heart. Now, they were brimming over, and it hurt Jongin seeing him so vulnerable.

“Studying might not be your forte,” Jongin said; slowly, calmly, “but no hard work goes unrewarded.”

Sehun groaned aloud, not caring who heard. His frown deepened. “Not you, too.”

“Listen to me first,” Jongin said, speaking in the same calm voice. “Don’t you think trying and then failing, instead of giving up right from the start, is better? If you haven’t tried it, how can you say for sure you can’t do something?”

Sehun lowered his gaze, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Do you really think I can do it?”

Jongin ached at the insecurity lacing Sehun’s words.

“I do,” he replied, with total conviction.

Sehun shook his head, as if the notion of him succeeding was too farfetched. “How can you believe in me when I don’t even believe in myself?”

“Because you’re more than capable than what you give yourself credit for.”

Sehun opened his mouth in likely rejection of the statement but closed it in the end, shooting Jongin a doubtful look.

“I’m not saying this because we’re friends,” Jongin continued, interpreting Sehun’s silence as permission, “but don’t think they’re just pretty words, either. Studying sucks and drains the life out of you. I agree. Our friends will agree; pretty much everyone else in school will also agree, except maybe the smart ones.”

Sehun looked like he was trying and failing to smother the beginning of a smile at the joke. Jongin took it as a good sign.

“Point is: if a problem knocks you down, do you stay beaten and lying on the ground? You don’t. You get up and continue moving forward. You fight. No one can promise you it won’t be hard, or that less problems will be thrown your way, but if there are people willing to help you— _believe_ in you—shouldn’t that count for something? Won’t you draw strength from that?”

Jongin busied himself with the side dishes in the subsequent silence. He wasn’t too hungry and food should be the least of his priorities, but it provided him something to do while waiting for Sehun’s response—even if he already knew what would come next.

“What if I end up disappointing everyone who supported me?” Sehun asked. A pause; then, in a timid voice: “What if I end up disappointing my parents?”

“You won’t,” Jongin said, and he meant it. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. You can stumble as many times as you want, but I’ll be here to lend a helping hand, as long as you help yourself, too.”

Because behind the million doubts and shaky self-confidence, Sehun would, indeed, pass the entrance exams and graduate college with a degree in Chinese Language and Literature, stunning everyone around him. It would take a few years, but Jongin would wait for this reality to come true. Living through events that already happened seemed tedious, at first; but moments like Sehun’s eyes retaining their usual brightness when their friends cheered him on, or when they asked for his help in language-related subjects and helping him with science ones in return, reminded Jongin of the simplicity of their lives back in the day.

Reminded him how a gap so huge existed between their chaotic but fun-filled high school days and the cold, dismal future no one would believe him if he told them.

Winter break was fast approaching, but before gaining their much-desired freedom, they needed to sit through more studying, more lessons, and more mock exams on top of the real ones. Their group study sessions started bearing fruit for Sehun, whose eyes widened in awe at his improved marks in the recent mock exam results and words of praise from the teachers.

“You did it!” Jongin couldn’t help launching himself at Sehun, laughing and hugging him tight. Though overjoyed, he didn’t miss the way Sehun tensed in his hold but relaxed after a few beats and reciprocated. Their other friends joined the hug not long after, patting Sehun on the back and ruffling his hair despite his protests.

Jongin still had an hour before his last hagwon session would conclude, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the many things he wanted to do during the holidays. Studying remained a priority, but it didn’t dampen his excitement at the prospect of sleeping for as long as he wanted; re-reading _The Devotion of Suspect X_ and savoring each word at the risk of crying his eyes out again; working his way through the stack of video games with Sehun.

The last one injected an extra shot of excitement in his body Jongin had to duck behind his book so he could unleash a grin.

Animated chatter filled the classroom air when the session ended, everybody packing their belongings and ignoring the teacher’s reminders of not neglecting their homework. Jongin barely registered what his seatmate was telling him while shoving everything in his bag, drunk in his elation at the awaiting freedom and his heart’s desires being fulfilled.

Elation doubled at the sight of Sehun outside, who was watching people milling about from his spot beside a lamp post. A hand was shoved deep in his coat pocket and the other holding onto the strap of his bag, breath coming out in small, white puffs. Sehun was attending the hagwon right next to Jongin’s, so most nights they rode the subway together, their stops two stations apart.

“Your scarf is askew,” Sehun commented upon his approach.

Jongin laughed sheepishly. “Got too excited.”

 _To see you,_ he wanted to add, but didn’t.

Hoisting the strap higher on his shoulder, Sehun used both hands in taking the scarf, folding it in half, and then placing it behind his neck. Jongin’s eyes flitted from Sehun’s deft fingers pulling the loose ends of the scarf through the loop, to the concentrated look on his face as he adjusted the material. His breath hitched at the graze of Sehun’s icy fingertips over the skin peeking above the scarf, hung up on the warmth left in its wake.

Splinters of the many winters spent together in which he never perfected the art of wearing his scarf properly and Sehun’s tirelessness in fixing it flashed in his mind.

Sehun examined his handiwork. Smiled in satisfaction. “Much better.”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry. I didn’t bring my gloves with me, so…”

Sehun withdrew his hands from where they were bunched up on the scarf, but Jongin trapped them between his own, blowing hot air across his fingers.

“S’okay. ‘Cold hands, warm heart,’ as the saying goes, right?”

Jongin’s smile widened at the rise of color in Sehun’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. Sehun muttered something about too much cheese not being good for his health.

Daily temperatures experienced a significant drop the further along they went into December. Jongin battled the cold using his arsenal of soft turtlenecks and comfy sweaters. Some sweaters he wore underneath his uniform blazer and kept him warm outdoors, though he’d been relying on his scarf and coat more in the past week. Oversleeping left no room for him to properly prepare his attire in the mornings, and he could think of nothing but his bed by the time he passed through his bedroom door. He shoved his hands into his pockets, but the bitter cold had a way of seeping through the material of his clothes and caused him to shiver.

“Are you okay? You look cold,” Sehun asked with a concerned frown.

“I’ll be fine after a bit of walking.”

Sehun’s gaze lingered on him a beat longer but said nothing more about the issue. He did, however, hold Jongin by the arm and steered him to the direction of a street food cart, claiming he was hungry from the extra lessons.

Jongin was deciding what to get when Sehun handed him a cup of _eomuk guk_.

“The broth will keep you warm,” Sehun said, biting into his own _eomuk_ skewer.

Jongin hid a smile by sinking his teeth into the first piece.

For a fleeting moment, he saw a glimpse of the adult Sehun in his seventeen-year-old self, whose eyebrows met in the middle and his arms akimbo if he confessed misplacing his scarf, then sigh in surrender and draw him in for a hug in the end because _body heat is the best, anyway_. The adult Sehun who cooked him all sorts of nourishing soup to combat the cold and checked if he was dressed warmly on frosty winter mornings before leaving for work.

The adult Sehun he missed dearly but would see again in a few years’ time.

Sehun disposed his cup then pulled his head back, startled. He rubbed the tip of his nose with a finger and raised his head. “Ah, it’s snowing.”

Jongin looked up. Snow fell in gentle flakes around them, unobtrusive but beautiful. It wasn’t the first snowfall of the season, but it was the first time Jongin stayed out long enough to see it with his eyes. He usually slept through it or woke up to piled-up snow on rooftops and on the streets. He held out a hand, collecting snowflakes in his palm.

“Careful; you might bump into someone or walk into a wall,” Sehun cautioned on their resumed walk to the subway. “Not that I won’t laugh when it happens.”

Jongin snorted but didn’t tear his eyes away from the snow. Neither of Sehun’s predictions happened since he made sure it wouldn’t, proven by the fingers curled light but firm around his elbow.

Neither also predicted Sehun suddenly slipping sideways on a patch of black ice.

Jongin caught Sehun’s arm before he could fall, pulling him close in the process. Never had he been more thankful for his reflexes kicking in fast. He didn’t relinquish his hold until Sehun regained his balance and righted himself.

“You okay?” Jongin’s eyes roamed over Sehun’s body to check for possible injuries. He guided both of them to the empty bus stop shelter and sat on the bench.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m not hurt anywhere, I promise.” Sehun showed him an assuring smile, disappearing only when something caught his attention. “Hey, you have snow on your hair. It makes you look like you have a bad case of dandruff.”

Sehun dusted the snow away before Jongin could say anything. The task hardly required effort and energy, but Sehun treated it as such. Jongin peered at him, eyes tracing the shape of Sehun’s face; the arched eyebrows, the smooth bridge of his nose, the faint scar on his right cheek he acquired from a clumsy bicycle accident when he was five.

“Am I so good-looking you can’t resist staring?”

The joke jolted Jongin back to reality. Sehun’s lips were quirked into a teasing smile, amusement twinkling bright in his eyes. Jongin couldn’t bring himself to look away, even if he wanted to.

“The snow’s gone.”

“Oh.”

They maintained eye contact, but a shift in the atmosphere between them was discernible, impossible to ignore or run away from anymore.

To this day, Jongin wasn’t sure who made the first move. It could’ve been Sehun, who drew his face oh so slowly, giving him a chance to stop or push him away. It could’ve been him, whose eyes fluttered close in anticipation and sighed at finally, _finally_ having Sehun’s lips pressed to his.

Experiencing his first kiss for the second time reaffirmed what Jongin already knew. It wasn’t as overly romantic like how movies depicted it: no cheering crowd or a confession of undying love with flowers and candles, no swell of dramatic music playing in the background. Realistically-speaking, their first kiss tasted of eomuk and winter cold, and he felt bad for kissing Sehun with chapped lips as opposed to his smooth ones from his constant application of lip balm.

But even with these little imperfections, Jongin still thought of it as the best first kiss—the _perfect_ first kiss—and would never trade it for anything; would gladly experience it again and again

The kiss seemed to go on forever, and then it ended far too fast it left Jongin wanting. Sehun pointedly stared at the poster pasted on the board behind him, redness on his cheeks coming from the cold, and probably something else.

“Let’s skip the eomuk next time.”

Jongin burst out laughing, Sehun following suit.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin scanned his report a final time for missed typos and incoherent sentences. Finding none, he composed a new e-mail and sent it to his professor. He let out a small cheer seeing the “message sent” box appear on the screen and slumped against the chair with relief. One less item off his coursework checklist. He could take it easy for now.

Nerve-wracking presentations, sleepless nights, fluctuating levels of stress—he deemed it ridiculous experiencing the trials and tribulations that came with the college student package once again but grateful just the same he survived. His stock knowledge helped him breeze through difficult exam questions, though a constant reminder echoed in his head to be careful of what he shared in classes—physics-related ones, in particular. Resigned as he was to this strange hiccup of the universe, he couldn’t risk upsetting it further by a careless slip of tongue about the future of time travel when it was still a topic of intense debate in the year 2015.

With two hours’ worth of free time in his hands, Jongin took advantage of the café’s WiFi and watched dance covers on YouTube. He sat through an entire playlist of queued videos and drained half his cup of iced mint choco before he sensed someone slip into the chair beside him. He took off an earbud and held it up in offering without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Done with your report?” was Sehun’s first question before taking the earbud.

“ _Finally_.” Jongin heaved out a dramatic sigh. Caught 2:13 P.M. on his laptop clock. “You have Readings in Chinese Poetry this period. Why are you here?”

“Prof caught the flu. He left us homework due next meeting.” Sehun opened the folder in front of him, skimmed the pages, and wrinkled his nose. “Poetry analysis. Ugh. I can’t wait for this semester to be over so I can say goodbye to it. Anyway, in other news, you’re stuck with me until your next class.”

“Unlucky me,” Jongin teased, sending a mischievous smile his way.

Sehun pulled a pretend affronted face. “Excuse you, anyone would feel blessed to be in my presence.”

The comment lacked either arrogance or smugness, but Jongin didn’t argue with a tried and tested fact.

Entering college paved way for changes like a continuing story from their high school days. Puberty had already been kind to Sehun when he shot up like a bamboo stalk and baby fat gave way to sharper, more defined features, but the exposure to people living different lifestyles encouraged him in paying closer attention to the way he dressed and walked; started experimenting with different hair colors and hit the gym by invite of an upperclassman who befriended him in a shared class.

Then came the turning of many heads and prolonged stares. The murmurs of curiosity and admiration Jongin would pick up every time they walked together anywhere in campus. The pouring of invitations to hang out. The growing list of acquaintances. An awakened passion for traveling and delving into exciting activities.

The confessions and bold approaches from brave souls, although those stopped fast once Sehun let slip he was taken.

Unlike the cliché popular guys portrayed in most media, however, Sehun remained himself, his quiet, awkward self who needed several meetings with a person before warming up. Jongin’s set of friends didn’t overlap with anyone from Sehun’s circle, degrees of relation often too wide for any chance at direct interaction; but when both groups mingled on that one rare occasion, nothing but fun was guaranteed to follow.

“Naengmyeon for dinner?” Jongin asked while packing up his laptop. His two-hour break would lapse soon, and the walk to the Natural Sciences building would take a while. Sehun wanted to tag along, but he was waiting for two of his friends, who requested for a tutoring session and would return the grammar books they borrowed. “Jinki-hyung mentioned the inclusion of a new item on the menu last time. We should try it.”

“Can’t,” Sehun answered, regret showing on his face as he did so. “Youngho covered for me last time so I could finish my Modern Chinese Lit report. I owe him this shift.”

Sehun worked as a part-time delivery boy in a _jajangmyeon_ shop, and though the flexible working hours couldn’t eclipse the meagerness of the pay, Sehun took the job anyway as a means of de-stressing and a way to interact with people from all walks of life.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Jongin couldn’t stop himself from pouting. They had a meal together three days ago, but he felt like it had been longer than that.

“Tomorrow.” The promise in Sehun’s reply rang clear.

Jongin nodded and kissed Sehun goodbye before leaving for class.

Busier schedules as college juniors meant more demanding schedules that lessened their chances of spending time together, but they made it work. They always made it work, even if all they could do was cuddle in bed while watching movies on a laptop and falling asleep halfway through; eating together at least once a week (twice, if they were lucky); or meeting by coincidence in the library, chatting in hushed voices as he shelved books while Sehun trailed after him.

Sehun never directly complained about their situation, but the spontaneous, out-of-town trips he would drag him to on weekends if they were both free told Jongin of the loneliness he probably couldn’t express well in words.

Graduation granted them the spare time they so longed and the gradual realization of their dreams. Between the many dates and catch-up sessions with friends, the countryside trips and silly arguments over the pettiest matters, Jongin finished graduate school and was offered a job at an institute dedicated to time travel research, while Sehun obtained his teaching license and received love calls from several universities.

“So popular even after graduating—what to do?” Jongin teased, gently bumping Sehun’s shoulder with his as they strolled down a line of cafés and restaurants. They just came from watching a movie and now walked without aim in hopes of finding something to do.

Sehun’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “What to do? I pick the university that wants me the most. Our alma mater is winning, so far.”

They discussed in length the pros and cons of each university’s offers amid idle browsing in and out an array of shops. Jongin was sharing his opinions about a certain campus when Sehun skipped off without warning, stopping in front of a display shelf of mugs.

“These are cute,” Sehun commented when Jongin caught up, childlike smile forming on his lips.

Ceramic mugs molded as animals, painted in vibrant colors and with painstaking effort, cartoonish in their expressions and poses. Sehun plucked one from the shelf—a bear with drooping eyes and one paw dipped into the honey jar—and said with excitement, “This looks like you.”

Jongin could only laugh. “Just because I love to sleep and like eating honey?”

“I’ll get it for you. It will remind you of your spirit animal every time you use it.”

Jongin caught the price tag dangling from the handle and wrinkled his nose. “This is too expensive for a mug.”

Sehun stepped back and examined the entirety of the shelf, pointing at a sign on the corner. “They’ll give a ten-percent discount if we buy two of any kind.” His eyes scanned the choices. “Should I get a cat or a wolf?”

“Are there no sloths available?”

Sehun scowled. Jongin grinned unapologetically.

Jongin inspected each of the mugs. The cat was cuter, smiling even with a fish caught in its mouth, but the wolf’s vacant expression was similar to Sehun’s when he had no idea what the other person was talking about.

“So the cat.”

“How’d you know?”

Sehun did a one-shouldered shrug. “I just do.”

“I didn’t know you were shopping for mugs?” Jongin returned the wolf mug with two hands and deliberate care. He couldn’t afford breaking anything, given his history of clumsiness. “If you told me sooner, we could’ve looked elsewhere. Maybe there are cheaper alternatives.”

“I like these,” Sehun insisted, cradling the chosen mugs close to his chest. “To be fair, I wasn’t planning on buying anything, but these are too cute to pass up. Ordinary mugs are fine and good, but seeing these first thing in the morning can bring a smile to your face, right? They’ll also add color to our future cupboard.”

“They will,” Jongin agreed.

Blinked.

“ _Our_ future cupboard?” Jongin fully turned to Sehun, not bothering to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

Sehun shrugged like he said nothing wrong. The redness of his cheeks said otherwise. “Just thinking aloud.”

Moving in together didn’t happen right away. It took more than a year of saving up and numerous trips to real estate agents. Jongin didn’t care what the apartment looked like as long as public transport was accessible and the location not too far from their workplaces, but Sehun was pickier and more meticulous about details such as where the windows were facing in the bedroom. The contrast in their personal preferences and priorities caused small arguments, but those diminished on the day an agent took them to see an apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood in Jongno.

Merely one foot inside the apartment and Sehun immediately shared a look with Jongin filled with understanding that yes, this was _the one_.

Transforming the apartment into a home they could call their own was an enjoyable, unforgettable process. Bickering about painting the walls in a uniform color or use a variety depending on the room. Working their way through unpacking boxes upon boxes of belongings and assorted knickknacks and deciding which went where. Assembling some of the furniture they bought from IKEA (on sale, because Jongin was firm on not shelling out too much for a fancy dining table for their fancier dinner of pot _ramyun_ and store-bought _kimbap_ ) and taking too long because they kept goofing off instead of following instructions.

Clothing found their way in the closet folded or hung, not bothering with segregation since wearing each other’s clothes was second nature now. One floating shelf in the living room showed off framed photographs from important milestones in their lives; the other Sehun’s one and only paper frog and the first boat Jongin had folded for him. In the kitchen cupboard sat their bear and cat mugs; on the dish rack crockery in pairs. Buying a bed wasn’t part of this month’s budget, so they would make do with a cushion mattress until then.

Housewarming with family and friends happened two months after they’d settled in, festive atmosphere never dying down from the stories and laughter shared. Watching everybody in a euphoric state, being showered by their well-wishes, and just the fact he was surrounded by the people most important to them caused Jongin to tear up. He knew he shouldn’t be this emotional, but he couldn’t help what he felt, even if he’d already gone through the events.

He wasn’t sure who among their friends started it, but soon he was being teased as a crybaby. Jongin laughed but said nothing in his defense. Sehun teased him, too, but also murmured against his hair later on that they could be crybabies together.

“And that’s that.” Jongin dried the last plate on the rack, marking the end of this busy but fulfilling day. Two hours spent cleaning up after the guests had gone was a feat in itself with the mess left behind, showing the improvement of their teamwork in this area.

Sehun returned from disposing the trash outside. He stood next to Jongin on the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Today was fun,” he remarked with a smile. “Mom said to visit them sometime. When are you free?”

“I can do next weekend.” Jongin hung the dishtowel on the hook provided. “I’ve been working overtime lately, so I can definitely use a breather.”

Sehun nodded. “Don’t work too hard, okay? Mom will scold me for not taking care of you. I’d feel bad about it, too.”

“Don’t be,” Jongin said right away. In two strides he closed the distance, cradling Sehun’s face in his hands and lifted his head so they were eye to eye. “Don’t you ever doubt for one second that you’re not taking good care of me. You do. If anything, I should be the worried one here. Work has been consuming me the past months we only see each other at night sometimes. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“Is this a competition?” Sehun joked, pulling out chuckles from them. “Putting up with you means caring for you is a chore, and it’s not like that with me. It never will.” He leaned in for a kiss, the chaste press of lips intensifying as the seconds wore on but not enough to lead to more.

“But I’m serious,” Sehun said, after breaking apart. “The bags under your eyes are worrying me. I can’t imagine the disappointment you felt when you thought you would finally unlock the secret behind time travel, but you’ll get there. You can work hard, but I don’t want you getting sick.”

Jongin offered him a weak smile though winced internally. He thought he could forget just for a while, but Sehun mentioning it reminded him of the research team’s most recent failure—and the penultimate one before the breakthrough.

He thought he could forget just for a while, but hearing it spoken aloud felt like a timer counting down to the dreaded day had been set off.

“I won’t,” Jongin assured. “Our research team always bounces back after a setback. It was disappointing, but we won’t stop. Not when we’re so close already.”

“Everything’s still too complicated for my head, but I know you can do it. Your team will solve one of humanity’s biggest question marks. It could also lead to other, more wonderful discoveries.”

In spite of Sehun’s uplifting smile, Jongin couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth.

He couldn’t tell Sehun this wonderful discovery would mean tearing them apart.

He couldn’t tell Sehun how long it took before he could fulfill his promise.

He couldn’t tell Sehun he would solve the equation that would unlock time travel soon; that the violet envelope’s arrival would follow; that he could only be sorry and hadn’t stopped being sorry for the choices he’d made.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin stared at the cursed violet envelope in front of him.

He didn’t even want to touch it.

A childish thought, but maybe it would dissipate into nothing if he stared at it long enough. Combust into flames without leaving proof of its existence. Grow legs and escort itself to the trash bin under his desk. He even entertained the idea of tearing it in two, but his fingers wouldn’t move of their own accord, somehow.

Jongin shook his head. The experiment only accepted volunteers. He could always choose not to fill out the form that led him to his doom the first time, or lose it on purpose.

Perhaps this was the answer he’d been searching for from the start: living his life all over again for a chance at staying with Sehun in the present rather than following his scientist dream of traveling to the future.

It sounded way too fantastical the more he repeated it in his head. Like the premise of a time travel movie in which a protagonist was sent to the past so they could fix whatever went wrong and return to a present or future more suited to their liking. Except his involved jumping back all the way to the literal beginning after slipping away from the clutches of death.

“Did you fill the form?” Sehun asked, three days after Jongin showed him the envelope and his late-night run. They sat opposite of each other in the kitchen dining table, with Sehun marking papers and Jongin catching up on the articles he’d printed but hadn’t touched since he solved the equation.

“I’m not sure I want to volunteer,” Jongin replied, after a significant pause.

Sehun listed his head. “Why not? Time travel has been a subject of your interest for a long time—books, movies, conspiracy theories and otherwise. Now it’s become a reality. Aren’t you happy about it?”

“You know what this experiment means, don’t you?”

“I do,” Sehun replied in a quiet voice. “But I don’t want to be that sort of person who holds back someone they love from achieving their biggest dreams.” His face betrayed nothing of what he felt, but the storm of emotions swirling in his eyes told Jongin what couldn’t come out of his mouth.

Jongin reached across the table so he could cover Sehun’s hands with his own. “How can I leave when you worry me too much?” he asked in his best attempt at lightening the somber mood. “You are kind, Sehun; sometimes too kind, even if the person isn’t deserving of it.”

“You are deserving of my kindness,” Sehun argued gently. “You are deserving of everything. And if it means leaving me behind so you can fulfill your dreams, it’s well worth the sacrifice.”

Sehun freed his hands so he can hold Jongin’s this time, his tight grip like a direct squeeze to the heart.

“I know you’ll come back to me,” Sehun said, words tinged with hope. “And I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it’ll take, I know you’ll do everything to come back to me.”

Jongin released a shaky laugh and pretended to sulk. “I haven’t decided yet—why are you sending me away already?”

Sehun laughed, too. “This is what you’ve been waiting for. This has always been your dream. You didn’t give up on me when I was on the verge of giving up on myself, so giving up on you despite the distance isn’t an option.”

The earnestness in his words consumed Jongin in gentle, giant waves, chest feeling too small for the overflowing adoration he harbored for this man before him.

It was this same earnestness that pushed Jongin to fill out the form for the second time in a repeated life. Armed with the knowledge of the future, he could endure the years spent apart and curtail their suffering by a significant amount by using it. He didn’t memorize the calculations down to the exact digit, but he remembered the vital formulas he and his colleagues used when it happened.

Though the derisive voice at the back of his mind tossed him a question that stuck: why hasn’t anything changed if that was the entire point of reliving his life from the start?

A splash of water in the face pulled him out of his thoughts. Jongin spluttered and retaliated with a splash of his own but only succeeded in extricating jovial laughter from Sehun, who crowed, “You missed!”

They took the Naksan trip like before. The water wasn’t as freezing as Jongin remembered. The sun warmed them with its presence, despite the slow shift into spring. It still wasn’t the sort of weather he’d swim in but one he could tolerate.

“Hey, you,” Sehun spoke beside him. “Stop thinking if you’ve ruined one of my dress shirts again by mixing it with the colored clothes and forgot to tell me.”

Jongin gaped at him, stunned. Now _this_ never happened before.

Sehun mirrored his reaction, but—

“You _didn’t_! Is that why the button-down I wore last Tuesday is missing from the hamper?”

Jongin’s mind worked quick at the mention. “We sent that button-down to the cleaners.” Not giving Sehun the opportunity to answer, he revived their splash war by sending a wave of water to his face. No more mentions of the shirt were made, too caught up in chasing each other and competing on whom got soused faster, peals of laughter ringing in the air.

Pausing to catch his breath, Sehun sprinted to shore and returned with the small, inflatable ball. “Let’s play a different game.”

A sense of déjà vu overcame Jongin as he watched Sehun toss the ball in the air and struck it with all his might. The ball soared across the water, covering a hefty but impressive distance, and dropped with a splash.

“First one to retrieve the ball _and_ return to shore gets free lunch.”

“You’re on.”

They shed off their upper clothing and dived into the water at the same time. Jongin was the better swimmer between them, but Sehun had the speed. They raced each other, Jongin taking the lead at times but Sehun would snatch his place if he slowed down a beat. It was a tight match; trickier, too, since the waves pushed the ball away from its original spot and toward the deeper parts of the water.

Victory smiled down on Jongin when his fingers touched the ball, fueling his determination in finishing this once and for all.

His arms and legs were beginning to ache from the cold and exertion on the swim back, the belated realization of how far they must’ve gone dawning on Jongin the second he reached the shore. He stood shivering under the sun, sweater practically useless in protecting him as the cool sea breeze seeped through the material. He had half a mind to fetch a towel, but he wanted to obnoxiously rub Sehun’s loss to his face on his return.

Perhaps Jongin should’ve been more suspicious when the first change in the sequence of events showed itself. Should’ve realized earlier the error in this game; shouldn’t have agreed to it. Perhaps he should’ve reined in his competitive side and been firmer in swaying Sehun by suggesting other activities they could do; shouldn’t have allowed the desire to win to possess him and ignore his surroundings.

Perhaps the outcome would’ve been different. Jongin wasn’t sure what it would’ve looked like, but he knew for certain it wouldn’t involve a lifeless body hauled to shore by two locals who helped him search when Sehun was taking far too long in breaking the surface.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Sehun was supposed to send him off to the future two days from now. Sehun was supposed to wait for him. They talked about it. They agreed on it.

_It wasn’t supposed to be this way._

Jongin chanted this mantra to himself over and over as he watched the first local apply CPR. Impatient with the lack of progress, Jongin pushed them aside and did it himself but to no avail. Not one to give up, he patted Sehun’s cheeks and coaxed him to _wake up, you’re not being funny_. Shook his shoulders, gentle at first, but more forceful toward the end the second local had to pry him away and calm him down. Jongin struggled from their hold and yelled at Sehun to stop playing games and just accept his defeat.

Yelled himself hoarse until he succumbed to the grief, harsh sobs wracking his body.

Losing Sehun to an untimely death was unfair. It shouldn’t have happened. Distance and time should’ve been their enemies, not the perilous blue sea.

Jongin squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trembling from devastation and rage. He refused this reality; rejected it with every fiber of his being.

Rejected it so adamantly and carried it with him back to the start.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Again, he was named Kim Jongin, lovingly so by his grandfather.

Again, he was born on the same wintry day in January, fourteen days after his eldest sister wished she could meet him soon.

Again, he went through the motions of living his life without any difference until he crossed paths with Sehun once more. Only then did he look forward to each day with more excitement, more zeal.

Though, at present, knowing full well the cause of their separation was the time travel experiment, Jongin decided the only way it wouldn’t happen was to prevent the possibility of it altogether.

It was preposterous, this line of thinking. Unbecoming, too, for him who valued hard work but was now more than willing to throw it away for the sake of a selfish wish. If the research team found out, they would no doubt fire him for the severe transgression he was planning.

It started out as a mundane thought on a slow-moving autumn day in 2018. Jongin was analyzing data of a recently-conducted experiment, keeping an eye out for inconsistencies. A cursory glance on the crossed-out calculations drawn on the white board in front of him should’ve fed him possible solutions, not a dangerous idea.

_What if the secret to time traveling was never discovered?_

Jongin ignored it, at first. Thought it would disappear if he didn’t pay it attention; kept himself preoccupied with extended research and thorough discussions with the team.

Instead of withering away like he expected, the idea embedded itself so deep in his conscious it would stay rooted no matter how much he distracted himself.

Jongin knew he was better than this; knew the logical choice was to nip it in the bud before it could bloom into something he might regret later on. But the idea fought its way to the front of his mind at all possible turns: showing up at work, chatting with Professor Jo, being entrusted with sensitive information and granted access to the database and backup cloud storage where all research material was documented.

Jongin began toying with possibilities of how he could do it. Searched the internet and lurked in forums; jotted down names and addresses. He mapped out a plan; targeted the perfect date. He would make his move during an inconspicuous time—a day before a public holiday, which meant a day-off for everyone—so chances of being suspected would be slim, if not zero.

He wouldn’t claim his plan as the most ingenious, but it was his best shot.

He convinced himself so as he sat waiting at a corner booth of a backstreet café in Hongdae, taking small sips of his green tea and straightening up every time the door opened. He fixed his snapback, an item he decided on last minute in case a colleague might bump into him in or out of the establishment.

He drummed a senseless rhythm on the table with his fingers as he waited. Sipped more of his now-lukewarm green tea. Doubts spiking with each passing second.

The minuscule voice of his conscience urging him to back out while it wasn’t too late.

The arrival of a tall man whom he waved over stamped out all chances of escape.

“Kim Jongin?” the man asked, sotto voce. He wore a black hoodie and skinny, ripped jeans, big eyes assessing him in polite curiosity.

Jongin nodded, straightening in his seat. “You must be Park Chanyeol. Codename: Phoenix.”

A knowing grin spread across Chanyeol’s face. The glint in his eyes hinted at playful mischief. “Cutting straight to the chase, huh? I like that.”

They migrated to a modest shop located at the fringes of Nakwon Music Mall. Jongin had never seen so many guitars gathered in a single place in his life. Walking further inside showed the shop’s collection of drums and keyboards; on the corner, a display glass case housing guitar picks and strings, drumsticks and other musical equipment. No other people were present, save for them and one bored clerk by the counter, head propped up on his palm as he flipped through a travel magazine with idle interest.

The clerk perked up at their appearance, though closer inspection told Jongin he was more excited seeing Chanyeol. Recognized the fondness in their gazes unique to two people sharing an intimate bond.

“Who’s this cutie pie?” The clerk gave Jongin an once-over, shot him a mischievous smile, then turned to Chanyeol and asked, “Is he the guy you mentioned we’re having a threesome with?”

Jongin snorted before he could stop himself.

“No, Baekhyun, he’s a client.” Chanyeol was laughing when he answered but stressed the last word. “We’ll be in the back office if you need me.”

The merriment on Baekhyun’s face was wiped out in an instant. “Okay. Leave it to me.”

“Thanks, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol said, flashing him a smile not short of affection.

The so-called back office looked nothing extraordinary. Three flat-screen monitors side by side on the desk: the first showed surveillance footage of the shop from all angles; the second a Deadpool wallpaper adorning the home screen and the icons lined up below; the third a spreadsheet listing instrument prices. In front of the monitors were a single keyboard and a wireless mouse beside it. A wall-mounted television played a foreign rock band concert with its volume turned down.

Not the type of office Jongin would associate with a famous hacker moonlighting as an aspiring musician and shop owner.

Chanyeol sat in his desk and pressed a key. A window popped up in the second monitor. He cracked his knuckles and rotated his neck, like he was preparing for a big fight. Without warning, his fingers flew across the keyboard in breakneck speed. Two more windows appeared above and below the first. Codes and scripts Jongin didn’t recognize scrolled down, too fast for him to catch and decipher.

“I’m gonna be honest: this is my first time hacking your institute’s database. I’m not sure I’ll succeed, but I do love a challenge.”

“You wouldn’t have been highly recommended by fellow hackers if you weren’t the best,” Jongin said, remembering his nights upon nights of lurking in hacker forums.

Chanyeol laughed aloud, the sound bouncing off the walls. “My reputation precedes me, as always. Gotta live up to it and not disappoint my fans.”

Jongin helped when necessary, but Chanyeol did most of the work. Chanyeol took advantage of the security vulnerabilities and, in a few keystrokes, gained root access to the database.

More windows popped up, though instead of the foreign codes and scripts, Jongin now recognized the filenames appearing one by one on the screen.

Chanyeol stretched his arms above his head and glanced at his watch. “That took a little under five minutes for both main and backup cloud. Not too shabby for my first time. So which ones do you want gone?”

“Everything,” Jongin answered, firm in his tone.

A defining press of the button wiped everything clean.

Jongin finally released the breath he’d been holding back since their meeting.

“Never knew the possibility of time traveling to the future has a chance of becoming a thing,” Chanyeol remarked, taking out the money Jongin handed to him in an envelope. He let out a low, impressed whistle at the crisp bills, rubbing them between his fingers. “That would’ve been awesome, just saying. Shame you want it gone. Bet your superiors are gonna be pissed if they knew what you’ve done.”

Jongin wanted to tell him why exactly the time travel data was better off gone, but he refused sharing his deepest secrets to a complete stranger. What mattered was the total erasure of the data. He’d deal with the guilt later on, but he maintained this was for a good cause. A self-serving one, undeniably so, but he wouldn’t have done it if not out of desperation.

The data loss sparked panic and outrage and grief among his colleagues after the holiday. Years and years of compiled research, gone in a fortnight—Jongin couldn’t blame them for reacting the way they did. It was a struggle commiserating when a sick sort of satisfaction bubbled in his chest. He powered through the day with well-placed nods of sympathy and a rehearsed expression of gloom.

No one suspected him today. Not in the next day, or after, or beyond.

Jongin should be rejoicing, but guilt was too potent a poison for him to enjoy his victory.

“Hey.” Sehun uncurled Jongin’s hand from where he’d gripped it too tight on his shirt, rubbing a thumb over tense, whitened knuckles. They were cuddling on the couch while watching a movie, laptop perched on the coffee table. “Something wrong?”

“No; not really.” Jongin patted himself for sounding calm despite his frazzled state.

“We’re watching a comedy with the lamest jokes you’d normally find funny, but you’re not laughing,” Sehun pointed out, not unkindly. With gentle fingers, he lifted Jongin’s chin and peered into his face. “You’ve been listless for weeks. Do you want to talk about it?”

Sehun’s concern rendered Jongin defenseless and ended up telling him the gist of what happened but omitted the part about paying a hacker. Sehun’s reaction was expected, consoling him with a hug and giving encouragements that it was going to be okay; that if he ever felt too upset, he’d always be there to listen.

Jongin had never been more thankful Sehun couldn’t see his face right now, or else the prolonged eye contact would trigger a premature confession of his sins. Amazing, though, that Sehun didn’t call him out on his bluff. Jongin would take his obliviousness as a blessing in disguise, albeit feeding the guilt. He could only offer a mental apology to Sehun for lying; for taking advantage of his kindness without him knowing.

The massive data loss demanded starting from scratch once again. Days and nights bled into each other, Jongin’s life a rinse and repeat of work and home six times a week, sometimes seven if they required his input. Most times he couldn’t remember much of what happened except for the strain in his eyes, backaches and headaches at the height of his most stressful days, mind clogged with calculations and formulas hounding him even in his dreams.

Sehun was patient with him, heating up leftovers and coaxing he eat on Jongin’s relatively good days, reasoning he didn’t want him going to bed on an empty stomach, never mind it was past midnight. On days exhaustion crashed on him like a ton of bricks he could barely keep his eyes open, Sehun would help him brush his teeth and wash his face. Despite his own struggles in preparing lesson plans and computing grades, Sehun never complained.

The research team was able to reconstruct a quarter of the original data by May 2019. Some of Jongin’s senior colleagues lamented the snail-like pace of their progress, but it was a far cry from the once desolate state of their research. Jongin had mixed feelings about this but drew comfort from the fact that the ominous violet envelope wouldn’t show itself in two years—or more.

Though he supposed he could appreciate the small blessings, like workload decreasing by half after a successful experiment. No one could stop talking about it, workplace abuzz with excitement. Jongin left work early with a giddiness he hadn’t felt in a while, especially after Professor Jo’s effective persuasion of celebrating their achievement instead of staying in the lab working overtime. His immediate thought was spending a relaxing evening with Sehun and placed a call.

Sehun picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worry flooding his voice.

Jongin couldn’t help chuckling. “Naengmyeon tonight?”

A rustle of papers on the other end. “Something good must’ve happened at work, then?” Jongin could almost hear a smile in Sehun’s voice. “But, yeah, I’m game. Movie before or after?”

“After. I’ll check if anything good’s showing. We can catch the last show.”

Jongin searched for movies upon reaching the naengmyeon shop. He texted Sehun his choices and chatted with Jinki, who stopped by his table. Only when Jinki welcomed a new customer did he check his phone.

 **Sehun  
** 6:14 PM  
_might be a bit late_  
_saw a granny struggling in finding her grandson’s apartment_  
her phone died, doesn’t know her grandson’s number, and it’s her first time in seoul  
hope u don’t mind?

Jongin read the message over again and smiled at his screen, a rush of fondness welling in his chest.

 **6:20 PM**  
_ofc i don’t mind :)_  
_i’ll wait for you at the shop  
travel safely_

“Where’s Sehun? Shouldn’t he be here by now?” Jinki asked in polite concern, setting saucers of side dishes on the table. After Jongin told him the reason, his face lit up in awe and commented, impressed, “That’s very nice of him. There should be more of him breaking the image of the cold-hearted Seoul man.”

Two bowls of _mul naengmyeon_ arrived five minutes later. The noodles called out to Jongin, and he could almost taste the clean broth from a single glance, but he’d wait for Sehun before digging in. He focused on the side dishes, nibbling on a bit of everything to subdue the hunger pangs.

Seven o’clock rolled by, and the side dishes were mostly gone now.

A hand taking an empty saucer out of nowhere startled Jongin. He calmed down right away when he saw Jinki giving him a second helping of side dishes.

“Sehun’s never made you wait this long before,” Jinki stated in a careful tone, looking at the empty chair where Sehun should be sitting. He would know; he was the first to point out Sehun never making Jongin wait more than ten minutes if they arrived separately since they became shop regulars.

Jongin appreciated Jinki’s efforts in keeping him company while manning tables. In a shop filled with families and college students huddled in groups, Jongin sort of stuck out sitting by himself in a table meant for two.

He unlocked his phone, despite the lack of new messages. He wasn’t one who worried in excess, and Sehun had never given him reason to. He found it odd, but plenty of factors could be involved. Rush hour traffic was one. Searching for the granny’s apartment might be taking time, too.

Jongin resumed his attack on the refilled side dishes. Customers arrived and left. His phone remained quiet.

Jinki dropped by his table and set down a pitcher of water. Jongin dipped his head in thanks. Craned his neck for the umpteenth time to have a better look at the tall guy entering the shop and deflating when he saw it wasn’t Sehun.

“You should’ve stopped Sehun from helping the granny.”

Jongin snapped his attention to Jinki, eyes large and disbelieving at what he heard.

“What do you mean?” he asked, breaking out of his shock.

Jinki traded the empty saucer of _japchae_ for a new one and cocked his head. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“On second thought, I take it back. It doesn’t matter whether you should’ve stopped Sehun or not. Things meant to happen will happen, no matter how much you try to stop or delay them.”

Jongin heard the words leave Jinki’s mouth. Heard the words said in Jinki’s voice. Jinki delivered them with the trademark whimsicalness he used when imparting strange philosophies and useful advices, but the sinister undercurrent was impossible to miss and sent a ripple of unexplained fear down Jongin’s spine.

An incoming call broke the tense moment. Jongin frowned at the unlisted number on the screen but swiped right to answer.

“Are you Kim Jongin?” the sweet voice of a woman asked from the other line.

Jongin frowned more but failed in recognizing the voice.

“Yes, this is he. May I know who’s on the line, please?”

“This is Nurse Lee calling from Samsung Medical Center. You were listed as Oh Sehun’s emergency contact on one of his IDs. Please come as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”

Shock numbed Jongin for a moment, the world around him coming to a screeching halt. He barely registered his arm dropping limply by his side, words clogging his throat though not a single syllable left his mouth. He rushed out into the streets to hail a cab, but he felt like he was wading through water, movements too slow and restrained for his liking.

Trepidation pulsed through his veins at the sight of Sehun’s parents talking to a surgeon in the emergency room on his arrival. Jongin rushed over, questions ready on the tip of his tongue.

Stopped halfway when Mrs. Oh crumpled in Mr. Oh’s arms, anguished cries ringing through Jongin’s ears.

The following days whisked by in a flurry of police investigations and reports. Street surveillance footage showed Sehun had successfully brought the granny to her grandson’s apartment. Sehun had failed to notice the two robbers tailing him until he was held at gunpoint on the walk to the bus stop. Sehun had tried fighting back when one of them snatched his bag. The robbers had retaliated by showering him with bullets—five of which were fatal shots to the heart, according to the autopsy report—and fled the scene.

A concerned citizen had found Sehun bleeding on the pavement and dialed 119, but the quick response of the ambulance proved futile. Sehun died on the operating table battling for his life.

_It wasn’t supposed this way._

Jongin believed this to be true previously. It still rang true now. He erased the possibility of unlocking time travel on purpose so he could spend the present with Sehun for as long as he could, if not until the experiment’s revival; but fate laughed at him and threw this scornful reality to his face as payback for his actions.

It smarted like a slap. It might as well be one, the throbbing ache inflicted on him unbearable and incomparable.

In the dimness of the living room, the colors of the sunset filtered through the curtains and painted the floor with beams of fiery orange. Jongin sat on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees drawn against his chest. The now too-large apartment deepened his misery, reminding him of his loss at every turn; their once shared living space void of the warmth and laughter and Sehun’s voice dripping with love every time he called out his name.

Jongin’s wish was simple: he only wanted to spend a complete lifetime with Sehun. Raise kids and adopt dogs together, purchase a house registered to their names, travel the world with the family they’d built, help each other walk the streets when their knees ached from the arthritis and massage each other’s sore backs come old age. He didn’t think he was asking too much, but why couldn’t his wish be granted? Was he paying the price for meddling with affairs that should occur, as loathsome as they might be?

The point of changing things in an otherwise immutable lifetime was to gain a different outcome. Jongin wasn’t keeping count, but there was no doubt he’d already broken so many rules in the small hope of altering the resentful future he saw and lived. Yet no matter the variation, Sehun was always, _always_ taken away from him.

_It wasn’t supposed to be this way._

Jongin squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He rested his forehead on his arms, sniffling as he continued hoping— _yearning_ —in vain for the familiar arms to ensconce him in their familiar warmth and console him.

 _Next time,_ Jongin vowed. Next time, he wouldn’t commit a mistake so big it would give birth to bigger consequences.

Next time, he would be more careful in choosing his battles.

Next time, he would make sure Sehun survived.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin wasn’t surprised anymore when he bore the same body and identity on his reawakening.

It didn’t surprise him anymore when the first twelve years of his life sailed by the same way.

It didn’t surprise him anymore when he met Sehun for the first time the same way he did the other times, just like how it didn’t surprise him how he fell in love all over again with the same man.

It should’ve gone stale already, repeating your life and living it surrounding yourself with the same faces; but Jongin could now say with wholehearted confidence he would never tire of falling for Sehun. Though some events deviated from the way they originally played out, the thrill never faded. So did his feelings.

Admittedly, some nights his mind conjured the most preposterous thoughts. What if the strain of this weird reincarnation-but-not-really situation was getting to him? What if he was only falling in love out of habit now?

Yet the fluttering in his chest every time he looked at Sehun, held his hand, kissed him intense or sweet, or simply lying down beside him in bed proved he could never see himself with anyone else.

Jongin didn’t pull any huge stunts such as hiring a hacker this time around. He paid a dear price for it, and he wasn’t about to commit the same mistake.

If anything, it ingrained into him the valuable lesson of not running away from your fears.

Jongin peeked at the violet envelope in his bag. He suggested naengmyeon for dinner, like how it happened before, but Sehun countered it with a request for a home-cooked meal. Finding it weird but not opposed, Jongin stopped by the supermarket and bought the ingredients for tangsuyuk. When he got off on his subway stop, he received a text from Sehun telling him he was clocking out early and not to start no matter what.

“I’m hurt. Do you not trust my culinary skills?” Jongin pouted at Sehun on his arrival.

Sehun laughed as he slipped on the apron and folded his sleeves. “You make a mean pot of ramyun, so that counts. Hey, don’t give me that look—I don’t just eat anyone’s ramyun since I started working out. You know that.”

Jongin cursed himself at how easy Sehun could butter him up, especially when he said the truth.

They prepared dinner together and succeeded with minimal incidents. Jongin was plating the tangsuyuk when Sehun returned from their room holding up the violet envelope, a silent question in his raised eyebrows.

Sehun listened to him talk about the experiment, never once interrupting. Jongin kept his eyes trained on Sehun the entire time, almost scared to blink for fear of missing any sort of reaction he might have.

Sehun bit on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the envelope now on the table. He lifted his gaze. “Have you decided?”

“I’m not participating.”

Sehun’s eyes widened. “Why?”

Jongin shrugged. “All this time travel research has exhausted me. We might have the correct calculations and assembled the necessary equipment, but there’s no guarantee it will work without repercussions or end up in the target year if it does. Don’t get me wrong, I’m curious about the outcome. I really am. But it’s too big a risk for me to take, even if it’s something I’ve worked hard on and contributed to for years.”

He smoothed a stray fringe away from his forehead, chancing a glance at Sehun.

Sehun was staring at him, face alarmingly impassive before it broke into a sad downturn of his mouth.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Jongin’s hand stilled.

“I’m not lying.” He stared Sehun straight in the eye. “What do I gain from lying to you, of all people? You know me; I won’t lie about this.”

“I know you enough to tell when you’re bullshitting me,” Sehun answered back.

“So, what; I can’t not participate just because? There always has to be a deeper reason behind my decisions?” Jongin couldn’t help raising his voice, but he listened to the part of him that advised to maintain a cool head. He couldn’t allow emotions to erode his rationale if he didn’t want this talk to escalate into something ugly.

At the same time, he could take anything hurled at him, but he wouldn’t tolerate being accused as a liar. It was hypocritical of him, but he told himself this was for Sehun’s sake. Convinced himself it was for the best.

Insisted.

Believed.

Sehun’s face creased in an unimpressed frown. “You’ve been working diligently on time travel research for years. You never stop talking about it. You never stop imagining what the future looks like. So I don’t get where this drastic change of heart is coming from. It’s… it’s so _unlike_ you.” His expression softened at the last few words, tone following suit.

Sometimes Jongin was tempted to come clean with Sehun, hoping it might change something for him—for them. Jongin’s drastic moves, however, taught him he would receive harsh consequences in exchange. He couldn’t risk placing Sehun in that kind of danger.

“I just… I just don’t want to go.” Caught in Sehun’s imploring gaze, Jongin told himself not to break down. “I wish I could tell you why, make you understand, but it’s… it’s complicated. I don’t think I can put it into words.”

“Then try. Tell me. Make me understand,” Sehun beseeched. “You know I’ll always try for you.”

_I don’t want to go because it will be the start of the end._

_I don’t want to go because I want a life where we spend a future together._

_I don’t want to go; because if I do, I’ll lose you._  
  
“I don’t want to go, because I don’t want to have to wait almost four decades just to be reunited with you.”

Jongin’s hand flew to his mouth, shocked at what he’d let slip, staring wide-eyed at an equally-shocked Sehun.

Conflicting emotions played out across Sehun’s face. “What are you talking about? Four decades? Why would it take four decades for us to be reunited? And even if it did, I would still wait for you. Is that what’s stopping you from participating? Am I holding you back?”

Jongin shook his head, loathing the heightening tension between them. “You don’t understand.”

“Damn right, I don’t understand!” Sehun snapped, taking Jongin aback. “If you would stop being so fucking cryptic and evasive, then this conversation would’ve been long over!”

Face flushed red, Sehun continued speaking, voice shaking with tenuously-controlled anger, “What’s wrong with you, Jongin? You’ve been acting off since you started having those nightmares. Do you think I haven’t noticed how awkward you are around Jinki-hyung when he talks to you? Or that one time you freaked out when we passed by Nakwon Music Mall? And now, it’s _this_.”

The nightmares only started happening in this life. Initially, they were blurred, harmless images he couldn’t make sense of even if he tried. Then the images banded together, mutating into gruesome, violent dreams that had him thrashing in bed drenched in cold sweat and jolting awake with a shout. In their vividness, he felt like he was submerged in icy waters for real and gasping for breath, legs cramping and body sinking down, down, down into the awaiting darkness. Sometimes his body ached in various parts, gasping in horror at the affected areas gaping open from bullet shots and blood oozing out of them.

Sehun always consoled him, assuring him it wasn’t real and convincing him to return to bed; but sleep would remain out of reach for Jongin, furious pounding of his heart making it impossible to find peace.

“Won’t you at least tell me the real reason you don’t want to take part in the experiment?”

Jongin lowered his head in silent apology.

Sehun expelled a long, defeated sigh and stormed off.

Jongin hurried after him in a flash. Sehun was shoving his feet into his shoes in the foyer. Jongin reached out to touch him on the shoulder, but Sehun slapped his hand away before it could settle anywhere on him.

“ _Don’t._ ”

Sehun slammed the door on the way out, the sound echoing in the unnerving quiet of the apartment.

Jongin held his hand like it had been scalded. Now he’d done it. He’d seen Sehun angry many times; been on the receiving end of his outbursts during real bad arguments. If Sehun had been enduring in the past five minutes, he was no doubt livid now.

He would’ve run after Sehun, but it would only piss him off further. Retreating back to the kitchen, Jongin sank on a chair and buried his head between his hands. Another waiting game he didn’t want to play, but leaving Sehun alone to cool off was the lesser evil.

Jongin couldn’t distract himself hard enough from the anxiety gnawing at his insides. He couldn’t predict if he’d lose Sehun to another armed robbery, but he didn’t want to find out. He’d deal with Sehun’s temper if it meant having him alive for one more day.

Having made up his mind, he shrugged on a sweater he grabbed from the closet. Renewed worry washed over him at Sehun’s phone and keys abandoned on the coffee table when he walked past, but Jongin was confident he could find him before he returned to an empty apartment.

Jongin checked the usual neighborhood haunts, but either he missed Sehun by some minutes or he didn’t drop by. Having surveyed every nook and cranny, he headed for the bus stop and started listing the places he should search for in the city proper.

His feet brought him to the children’s playground after more than an hour of fruitless searching, drawn in by the swings. Jongin sat on one, wincing when it groaned under his weight. He was too old for this—too big, even—but Jongin stayed vigilant even as he swung gently to and fro. The silence of the playground would be broken by the occasional creak of the chains and the faraway sound of vehicle horns. He wondered where Sehun could be right now as he glimpsed at the sky smeared with intense colors of red and orange.

“Beautiful sunset we have this afternoon.”

Jongin dug his feet into the ground, hands gripping tight on the chains.

Jinki was occupying the other swing, looking skyward with a serene smile. He opened a bottle of soymilk and drank half of it one gulp. He turned to Jongin and held out the bottle in offer.

Jongin shook his head in polite rejection, still not over Jinki’s sudden appearance. Only curiosity thawed him out of his frozen state at the spark of a memory, one he hadn’t remembered until now.

“Last time,” Jongin said, making Jinki look his way again. “Last time, you mentioned things meant to happen will happen. How do you know what I intended to do? Do you“—he paused, not sure how he could word his question without sounding strange or insensible but powered through—“do you remember things that have happened beyond your previous life?”

“I remember a lot of things,” Jinki answered, screwing the cap back on the bottle. “I remember far too many things I’m amazed I don’t get them mixed up. But I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear from me.”

Jongin’s eyebrows drew together, not quite sure what to make of Jinki’s words, or if he understood them. He couldn’t dwell on it, however, when he checked the time on his phone and realized he’d dawdled long enough. Perhaps Sehun had cooled off enough by now; even better if he returned to the apartment. Jongin would still make rounds just to be sure, though.

Jinki remained seated in his swing even as he rose from his, humming the tune of an old love song Jongin had heard of before but couldn’t place the title of. Jongin was about to say goodbye and walk away but reconsidered by asking, “By any chance, have you seen Sehun on the way here?”

Jinki stopped humming. His smile was back in place. “No. But I was expecting you to come by the shop. It’s where you showed him the violet envelope for the first time—and the timeline after that.”

Jongin gaped, confusion and surprise warring with each other. “ _What?_ ”

“I know you and Sehun have argued about the time travel experiment exactly two hours ago. I know you’ve been having nightmares of the ways he died since moving in together three years ago. I know you still want an answer to the question of why you keep living your life the same way you did the first time, even when it plays out differently you could almost call it a different life.

“So let me tell you what I know that you don’t: be careful of repeated resets. It can do more harm than good.”

The smile had slipped off from Jinki’s face, countenance as serious as his voice. The graveness of his words sent a ripple of anxiety down Jongin’s spine. So many questions raced through his mind. Why did Jinki know all this when he never mentioned it to anyone?

“Who are you?” Jongin croaked out the question.

The tense silence was filled by the sound of either an ambulance or a fire truck siren.

Jinki smiled again, listing his head. “Me? You know me as Lee Jinki. Have known me as Lee Jinki, as well as Sehun, and everybody else who knows me. But I also have another name others call me by. A name bestowed on me from the beginning. I am whom you humans call Father Time.”

Jongin stared at him, confounded. The scientist side of him scoffed at this load of bull, but a tiny, reluctant part urged him into believing.

“What did you mean by repeated resets?”

“Exactly what I mean. Do you honestly believe humans could live their lives the same way again, or return to the start with their complete memories? Most can’t, but a few can. You belong to the latter, Kim Jongin.”

Jongin’s confusion continued to grow. “I… I’m not a time traveler, am I?”

Jinki chuckled, but it didn’t come off mean. “Time travelers aren’t born. But it’s fascinating, how humans have become so obsessed with the concept of it. They don’t stop finding ways to seek the future or return to the past yet feel so wretched when they discover what they’ve arrived to isn’t at all pleasant or what they expected.

“Like what happened to you when you triggered your first reset.”

A slideshow of images flashed in Jongin’s mind, taking him back to the exact moment he traveled to the past after decrypting its secrets in the far-off future he traveled to. The detailed, near-tangible quality of these images awed and scared him: the nauseating scent of sickness and death, the suffocating silence broken every so often by wheezes and labored breathing, gnarled hands as frail as a newborn bird’s wings.

Jongin willed the images away by clenching his fists. Never once had he forgotten them: not in this timeline, and definitely not in his previous resets.

“I do this thing you call resetting because I don’t want the waiting Sehun has done to be in vain. I promised him I would come back.”

“And you did,” Jinki agreed. “You promised, and you kept it. In normal circumstances, humans only live one lifetime until the end. Resetters are unheard of among humans, but they exist. I’ve met plenty of them for as long as I could remember. Two resets is the limit, but the frequency of yours is unusual—and, frankly, quite alarming.

“What is it about Sehun that pushes you to willingly reset the timeline, even if you know it will end in tragedy?”

“How are you so sure?” Jongin argued, defiance and irritation flooding through him. “The outcome could change if I try hard enough. There’s been so many changes on how we’ve lived, so who’s to say there isn’t a possibility of things playing out differently?”

Jinki bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “And yet your previous resets have only ended the same way. Do you not find that suspicious or telling of an indisputable fact you’re willfully ignoring?”

Jongin would’ve found it easier disliking Jinki had he been talking to him in a condescending way. That would’ve been more acceptable, more tolerable. Not with surprising gentleness that revived the doubts he’d worked hard in pushing away. Not in this soft, sad tone summoning the memories that plagued him but also served as his driving force.

“Thank you for shedding light to what I thought was a weird fluke; but if you think this will stop me from changing what’s happened, you’re wrong. It won’t. I won’t stop,” Jongin declared, resolute. “If my timeline resets brought about changes, it also means I can work for a future where Sehun is by my side. So I’m not giving up.”

Jinki’s smile morphed into the melancholic kind.

“Your determination is charming”—Jinki lifted a hand to point northwest—“but how long can you keep it burning?”

Jongin followed the direction of Jinki’s finger. Billows of smoke rose from behind two sky-rise buildings. The persistent cry of sirens reached his ears.

“If you run, you can make it in three minutes,” Jinki said, eyes on the smoke. “To save you the torture, I’ll give you a hint: it’s the building where Sehun’s favorite bubble tea shop is.”

Jongin bolted.

He rushed through streets and alleys, fueled by adrenalin and dread. He bumped into several people and threw hasty apologies over his shoulder; barely registered the pain on his knee when he knocked it on the brick wall by taking a wrong turn down the corner. Panic raced through his system when he arrived to the scene of firefighters hosing down the huge sheets of flames consuming the commercial building. EMTs were on standby to the side; police officers shouted orders for civilians to follow.

Jongin ducked under the barricade tape but was caught and stopped by two officers, nearly getting into a physical fight with one because no, they didn’t understand, he _had_ to save someone inside, had to make sure Sehun made it out alive—

“No survivors,” was reported by various media outlets.

The confirmation came straight from the fire chief himself. The gas leak from a restaurant on the ground floor set off the explosion and led to the fire. The building’s age and substandard construction materials caused the fire’s rapid spreading on all three floors, the second taking the most damage. Majority of victims died from carbon monoxide poisoning, and a handful burnt to death.

Jongin stared at the charred remains of the building hours after everyone had left the scene and wondered if Sehun suffered in any way. Wondered what went through Sehun’s mind during his last moments; if he was scared after realizing there was no escape since the bubble tea shop was on the second floor.

Jongin wondered if Sehun had forgiven him for refusing him the truth or stayed angry until the end.

But maybe Jongin would never know—not in a million years, not even with a million resets. All he had now was the singed vestige of a place that held memories of their middle and high school days, the bitter tang of remorse lying heavy on his tongue as he whispered tearful apologies into the chilly spring night.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin revised tactics on the next reset.

If he couldn’t change anything by staying in the present, perhaps the answer truly did lie in the future. Volunteering for the experiment meant the temporary separation wouldn’t last four decades if he applied the knowledge he’d gained and speed up the process. He couldn’t do anything about the equipment, but he was hopeful he could shorten the four decades to two, at most.

He’d take and do anything if it meant the shortest way possible to return to Sehun.

So he accepted the envelope and talked to Sehun about his decision of participating, like usual. Planned and prepared for their long trip together, like usual. The trip played out like an exact replica of the first timeline, though Jongin kept an extra close watch on Sehun if he thought he was straying too far in the water. Jongin never parted from Sehun’s side unless in absolute necessity, defenses rising when they helped a struggling old woman carry her bag of groceries all the way to her house. He also murmured a silent prayer of thanks at the lack of bubble tea shops in the area, and breathed easy at the absence of arguments, save for their petty bickering of new snacks they should try.

If Jongin had to pick one caveat in this otherwise ideal picture, it was Sehun’s constant sniffling and slight raise in temperature.

“I told you to wear the thicker coat last week, but did you listen?” Jongin chastised, though not with real heat, as he watched Sehun blow his nose then wash his hands. They were back in their hotel room for the night, the two slices of cake sitting idly on the table provided. The air conditioner was set to room temperature so Sehun wouldn’t feel too cold.

“This is so strange,” Sehun remarked, wiping his hands. “Usually, I’m the one fussing over you for foregoing jackets and losing scarves and not dressing warm enough. Now you’re doing it.” He slid next to Jongin on the bed, curling up into his side. A Taiwanese film was playing on television with more or less accurate subtitles—or so Sehun claimed whenever he shook his head at the wrong word choice and criticized the lousy translation.

Jongin pressed the back of his hand to Sehun’s forehead, slightly frowning. “Are you sure you’re feeling fine? Do you want to have it checked? I saw a clinic next to the noodle shop.”

“Just a bit bothered by the sniffling, but I don’t have a headache, and I’m not tired. I think it’s just from being exposed to the cold.”

Jongin sighed. The concern hadn’t disappeared, but he would trust Sehun. “Fine; but if I think you don’t look good, we’re going to the clinic. No questions asked.”

He felt Sehun nod his head in assent from where it lay on his shoulder.

“Tell me right away if you feel even the tiniest discomfort, okay? Don’t wait until the last minute before you say anything.”

“Why are you so bossy today?” Sehun griped, jabbing a finger to a ticklish spot on Jongin’s side. Jongin squirmed at the contact. “Are you forgetting we’re celebrating my birthday in advance? So, technically, you can’t boss me around.”

Jongin rolled over so he was straddling Sehun and pinned him down by the shoulders. “I’ll show you how bossy I can be,” he purred.

Jongin didn’t remember the hotel bed being this narrow in the first timeline, or it only seemed like it when two grown men embroiled in a tickle fight meant limited space to roll around in. Neither of them backed down, ruthless fingers pressing into sides or wriggling under arms, laughter punctuated by breathless gasps and orders to yield.

“Surrender!” Jongin showed no mercy tickling a squirming Sehun beneath him across his ribs and into a frenzy of laughter.

“Never!” Sehun swatted his hands away and grabbed hold the front of his shirt, pulling him down with the right amount of force so their lips met in a kiss.

Jongin resisted little and reciprocated with equal fervor, soon finding himself on his back as the kiss turned heated.

The bed might not be as spacious like theirs back home, but it lent a different sort of intimacy Jongin lost himself in. Proximity was nonexistent as eager hands touched and mapped each other’s bodies in the most intimate caress, lips meeting over and over in feverish kisses. Sehun’s eyes fluttered close when Jongin stroked them both to full hardness, forehead resting against his and pleading for more. Jongin muffled his moans behind his hand as Sehun rocked into him slow and deep, the delicious slide of heated skin against his own and the indescribable pleasure so overwhelming he felt like melting into it.

Passion kept them awake until dawn, exhaustion providing a few hours of sleep. Jongin cradled Sehun’s head against his chest, fingers weaving through his damp hair. Several thoughts raced in his mind. They would have one last day together, and though he was more accepting of his fate this time, it didn’t stop him from feeling sad about their impending separation.

“So what are we doing today?” Sehun cleared his throat from his place in the driver’s seat then switched gears. Not a lot of vehicles were on the road yet, despite it being the weekend. They wouldn’t reach Seoul in two more hours, so they searched for the nearest pit stop for a quick lunch.

“We’re still celebrating your birthday. Why don’t you decide?” Jongin offered, looking out the window for any establishments selling food. Sehun’s temperature had gone down this morning, but the sniffles hadn’t left. “Want to go to Lotte World?”

Sehun barked out a laugh. “Wouldn’t it be weird for two men in their late twenties to be hanging out in an amusement park?”

“Age is just a number. We will forever be children at heart, with you being the bigger child between us, just saying.”

Sehun huffed out a faux annoyed breath. “Who was it that cheated on pool behind my back because they couldn’t win against me in a fair fight?”

“Listen, that was one time—”

Sehun swerved hard at the exact moment a dog dashed from the side of the road and in front of the car—

Jongin’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “That was close.”

—but he couldn’t switch back to the right lane fast enough to avoid the head-on collision with a six-wheeler truck.

During short intervals of consciousness, Jongin could make out what was happening in his surroundings, though not in particular order. The blare of sirens in the far-off distance. Voices asking if he could hear them. The suffocating stench of gasoline and assorted chemicals. Hands pulling him out from the wreck with deliberate care. Explosions of pain on different parts of his body. The crunch of metal and glass fragments. Wetness dripping down the side of his face, nose, and chin.

Then there was a lull.

Jongin opened his eyes; shut them right away. Three attempts before his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the lights. Took in the homey interior of the hospital room he was confined in; the silent hum of the dehumidifier in the background; the bandages heavily wrapped around his left forearm and above his elbow; the dryness of his throat and the difficulties of swallowing with a brace on; and the soreness of his body like he’d been thrown into a blender.

The door swung open, revealing the figure of his mother, who dropped the fruit basket she was carrying in her shock. His eldest sister, who was following close behind, gasped aloud, then rushed off and returned with a doctor and nurse.

The doctor looked relatively young, with a kind face and dimples denting his cheeks. Jongin peeked at the nameplate pinned above his coat pocket. Zhang Yixing.

Dr. Zhang checked his vitals; asked him if he felt pain or discomfort anywhere. Questioned him about his name, age, if he knew where he was, if he could remember what happened.

“We’ll keep you under observation in case of delayed symptoms and run some tests, as well. I strongly advise taking plenty of rest for a speedier recovery and avoid further aggravating your injuries. You’re real lucky the car accident didn’t damage vital organs or crush your spine.”

“We were so worried when the hospital called us. It was agonizing, waiting for you to wake up since your confinement,” Jongin’s mother said from the other side of the bed, helping Jongin sip water when he requested for it.

Jongin ignored the bite of the brace into his neck and the twinge of pain when he turned his head, blinking his eyes at his mother in bewilderment.

“Did you just say—what’s the date today? How long have I been out?”

“April 16, 2021,” Dr. Zhang answered in his mother’s place. “You’ve been unconscious for five days.”

The day of the experiment had passed. Jongin wasn’t thrilled about the accident, but it pushed time forward and prevented his departure. Neither the aches and pains nor his battered state could extinguish the glimmer of hope.

“Sehun? What happened to Sehun? Where is he?” Jongin winced at the scratchiness of his throat.

Grim lines marred Dr. Zhang’s face, setting Jongin on edge.

Sheer resolve or recklessness—Jongin didn’t know which one it was, nor did he care, but he insisted on seeing Sehun _now_. Not later, not tomorrow, not even after an hour’s rest, despite his mother and sister’s joint efforts in bargaining with him. He wouldn’t be cajoled into staying in bed until his injuries healed. He wanted to confirm Sehun’s condition with his own eyes immediately.

Together with his mother, Jongin dragged the IV stand beside him and navigated the corridors, ribs aching with each measured step. He refused riding a wheelchair, insisting he could move faster without it. What normally took less than two minutes felt like an hour of traveling on elevators and escalators; but the strength of his desire in seeing Sehun pushed him until he arrived in the Intensive Care Unit.

Sehun lay ashen and motionless and encased in the scent of antiseptic in bed, face swollen and adorned with reddish-purple bruises and tiny cuts. Tubes and machines were hooked up all over his body that created unnatural noises. A bandage was wrapped neatly around his head. Both of his legs were in casts, his neck in a brace, too. His oxygen mask fogged up with every exhale, chest rising and falling with difficulty. A heart rate and blood pressure monitor stood beside his bed, lines on screen taking the appearance of a softly-rolling wave.

Sehun received the brunt of the crash, hauled out of the wreck with a collapsed lung, broken legs, and severe trauma to the head. Dr. Zhang confessed his pessimism of Sehun surviving—the constant drop of his blood pressure during surgery had been worrisome. Sehun proved him wrong by fighting but slipped into a coma in spite of his narrow escape from death. He remained stable since but hadn’t opened his eyes.

Jongin spent his days in and out of the hospital concentrating on recovery and visiting Sehun, undeterred by the distance and body pains. Dr. Zhang commended Jongin’s progress on his checkups but would give him a sad sort of smile every time he asked for updates on Sehun’s condition.

By the time Jongin’s arms and ribs completely healed, Sehun’s bruises had faded and the cuts on his face had closed. He’d also been transferred to a private room with a window overlooking the courtyard. Jongin stayed until visiting hours lapsed, the beep of the heart rate monitor a comforting albeit static noise in a room shrouded by an unsettling silence.

As a means of passing time, Jongin talked to Sehun about anything and everything.

“Today’s weather is wonderful. The heat isn’t unbearable yet, and the sky is so clear and blue you would’ve taken a picture of it. I’d do it in your place, but it might come out blurry. Should I try, anyway?”

“I made _ramyun ttang_ the other day. I don’t know why—I just did. I shouldn’t tell you this because you’ll laugh at me, but I somehow ended up burning the butter. It didn’t taste too good, but I ate what I could. Would you have eaten it, if you had the chance? Ah, no, I can’t let you eat something inedible. I’ll practice first. Prepare for my perfect ramyun ttang when you wake up.”

“I bumped into some of your co-teachers on the way home yesterday. They asked about you and got so worried when I told them what happened. They promised to visit one of these days and wished you’d get well soon. I wish for the same thing, too. I wish you’d open your eyes now so I’ll know you’re okay.”

“Every morning, I wake up and panic when I open the rice cooker and see it’s empty. You love eating rice for breakfast, but I keep forgetting that’s impossible right now. I often end up with too much rice for one person, so help me out here. It’s lonely eating alone.”

“I brought out the kami I stashed away for years and picked up origami again. I’m a bit rusty, but I was able to fold paper boats. You were always so happy whenever I made them when we were young. In Japan, there’s a belief that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, your wish will come true. If I fold a thousand paper boats, do you think time will be kinder to us here? Will it finally allow us to stay together?”

“That’s not for Father Time to decide.”

Jongin whirled his body so fast at the sound of Dr. Zhang’s voice from the doorway.

Dr. Zhang checked on Sehun’s vitals, followed by the clipboard at the end of the bed. “You could fold a thousand anything, but no amount of resets can change the reality you’re running away from.”

Jongin frowned at his words. “Who are you? Why do you know Father Time?”

“Everyone knows Father Time,” Dr. Zhang said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “They do not know of his name, specifically, but they know of his existence through the little things—like how many minutes are in twenty-four hours, or how long a KTX ride takes from Seoul to Busan. Only a few know of his existence and role in bigger, more serious things. What you’re asking of him is beyond his capabilities, however.”

“This is the only reset where I’ve stayed beyond the day of the experiment. It’s a drastic change in the timeline, so if that’s possible, you can’t tell me things are absolute. I won’t even need Father Time’s help if I can pave the way with my own hands.”

“These drastic changes you speak of still won’t give the outcome you want.” Dr. Zhang peeked at Jongin over the rim of his glasses. “If I were you, I’d stop resetting before it’s too late.”

“What would you know?” Jongin snapped, indignation rising. “It’s not any of you damned immortals who have to deal with resetting your entire life only to be constantly disappointed in the end. Not a single one of you know what it’s like to lose the person you love most and carry that loss with you. And I’m tired of it. I want a reset where it doesn’t end in separation. Just once— _just this once_ —I don’t want Sehun taken away from me.”

Jongin didn’t realize he was crying until he noticed the wet spots on his jeans. He couldn’t tell Dr. Zhang’s reaction, but he was far too upset at this point to keep up appearances or care.

A tense silence befell them, broken only when Dr. Zhang said, “I cannot undo or change what’s happened and bound to happen, but I can do something about your suffering, if you’ll allow me.”

“Get out.” Jongin wiped the moisture away on his cheeks with the heel of his palm. Suddenly he felt so drained. Had he been in a better mood, he might have entertained Dr. Zhang—whoever the hell he’s supposed to be—but he refused dealing with anything else right now.

Dr. Zhang stared at him but respected his wish.

Jongin picked up Sehun’s hand and pressed his cheek against the palm. “Oh Sehun, how long are you planning to sleep? Is this revenge for putting you through almost four decades of waiting?” Shaky laughter tumbled out, eyes filling up once more. “The experiment’s done; I’m not needed for it anymore. I can stay. I’m not going anywhere. So, please wake up now. Wake up so my heart will stop breaking.”

In retrospect, Jongin suspected his heart had never stopped breaking, after all.

Not since the first time, on a cool October evening in 2061.

After nearly four decades, time travel to the past had become a reality—progress mankind in the future had celebrated on, proving everything was possible, no matter how long and arduous the journey. Jongin hadn’t foreseen the process of it taking so long, assuming people of the 22nd century had the necessary resources. As soon as they had built the device after plenty of careful experimentation and adjustments and sought for volunteers, he had presented himself right away, ignoring his colleagues’ concerns for his age and body that might not endure the stress.

Traveling to the past had proved smoother than the reverse—the machine hadn’t even required a warm up before usage. One second Jongin had been standing inside the lab, co-workers’ full attention on him and the other volunteers. Three blinks and the lab had melted into the busy streets of a now foreign-looking Seoul.

Jongin had bought a city map, distrustful of his navigational skills in a city that had undergone so many changes. Some roads had new names; bus stops had been relocated and subways rerouted. He had faced minor setbacks, like alighting at the wrong stop and taking breaks for his aching back, but he had regained his spirit once he had set foot in Jongno.

The same spirit had dampened at the sight of a new apartment complex in place of the old one. Torn down five years ago, according to a resident he had inquired from. Jongin had asked about Oh Sehun and his possible whereabouts, but the resident had shown no sign of recognizing him.

Jongin had tried tracking down his family members, Sehun’s, and their friends but came up empty-handed. The lack of progress had frustrated him, but he had no right complaining. Keeping in touch had been impossible, after all.

Jongin had never stopped believing he would find a lead.

He had found it in the naengmyeon shop, from the most unexpected person.

“You know Uncle Sehun?” Jinki’s granddaughter had asked him with surprised eyes after Jongin’s introduction of himself. She had taken over the shop after Jinki retired and had known Sehun since she was a child, explaining her familiarity with him. According to her, Sehun had always dropped by three times a week. “I know where he is. He’ll be happy to receive visitors. He’s in dire need of cheering up.”

Jongin had found the statements strange, but his eagerness in seeing Sehun had overridden it. He had wondered why he had moved out, and where he lived now.

A nursing home hadn’t crossed his mind in the slightest.

In one of their rooms clouded by the heavy scent of medication, he had found Sehun slumbering in bed, chest rising and falling with his labored breathing and occasional wheezes. Wrinkles had sagged down his face, hair thinned out and graying, gnarled hands peeking beneath the frayed cuffs of the well-worn baby blue turtleneck he’d given him so many years ago. The youthfulness had clearly disappeared, but Sehun still looked handsome to Jongin.

“Mr. Oh has been in a protracted battle with pneumonia for months,” Minji, a nursing home staff in her early twenties, had informed him in a hushed voice. Sehun hadn’t once stirred from his sleep since Jongin arrived, and he didn’t have the heart to wake him. “But he’s responding positively to the antibiotics and on his way to recovery, even if progress is slow.”

Sehun had been living in the nursing home for three years. Jongin had smiled at Minji recounting how Sehun had kept to himself for the first two months before socializing with others. Sehun had seldom received visitors, save for Jinki and his granddaughter, who also brought him side dishes and his favorite naengmyeon on their visits.

“Mr. Oh suffers from hearing difficulties sometimes. It takes a few tries before he understands what we’re telling him, though not enough of a problem to require a hearing aid. Eroding mind-body coordination leaves him prone to slipping and tripping on his own feet, so we assist him when he takes walks or baths. On good days, he allows us. On bad days, he gets very cross about it and throws tantrums.”

Atop a chest of drawers, Jongin had seen two framed photographs. One had been a studio portrait of the Oh family taken after Sehun graduated college. The other frame contained their picture from their seventh anniversary at the rooftop garden of a posh restaurant in Gangnam. On the side had been the paper boat and frog; the opposite, the ceramic bear mug with a coaster on top. Jongin had reached out for the mug but Minji’s soft gasp stopped him.

“Mr. Oh doesn’t like anyone touching those, so if you would please…” Minji had trailed off, face apologetic. Jongin had smiled in understanding and retracted his hand. “He’s very protective of the mug. He won’t drink from anything else. The paper figures are off-limits, too. He takes those with him on his morning walks in the garden when he isn’t feeling too weak or sick.”

“Have you been in charge of him since his arrival?” Jongin had asked.

Minji had nodded, smiling. “He’s like the grandfather I never had. Mr. Oh might look unapproachable and is a bit on the quiet side, but he has plenty of stories once you get him talking. He has unique habits, too. One that stands out to me is his love for looking at the sky. He told me somewhere far away, his most important person was looking at the same sky.”

Minji had sighed and cast Sehun a sad glance. “I don’t know anything about his most important person, but it’s obvious he’s waiting for them to come. Sometimes, Mr. Oh sits on his bed staring at the door for hours, like he’s expecting someone to walk in. Then there are times he doesn’t talk for an entire day and just sobs into his mug of tea. We might not be blood relatives, but my heart hurts for him during his inconsolable episodes.”

Jongin had pressed the softest kiss on Sehun’s temple in a wordless goodbye, assuming he would sleep the rest of the afternoon away. He’d taken two steps forward when the faintest groan stopped him in his tracks.

Sehun had opened his eyes and let out another groan. He had blinked at the ceiling, gaze roaming around the room as if ascertaining his whereabouts, then furrowed his brows once it had settled on Jongin.

“Sehun,” Jongin had called out, resuming his place beside him. “It’s me.”

Sehun had stared at him in silent curiosity, drawing out the waiting, the apprehension.

“Welcome home.”

Jongin had nodded vigorously; had grinned at the crease between Sehun’s eyebrows smoothening out and mouth curving in joy. “I’m home.” He had caught Sehun’s hand seeking his and clutched tight, quickly swallowing a sob. Years of waiting for this day and it had come, at long last. “I’m home.”

They had spent the remaining visiting hours talking and crying and laughing while lying in bed face to face. Jongin had shared stories of his experiences in the 22nd century. Sehun had been more interested in stealing kisses and demanding cuddles. Jongin had teased him for it but indulged Sehun’s whims just the same. Save for Sehun’s coughing fits that wedged its way into their conversation, their reunion had been perfect.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Sehun had asked, after Jongin announced he would visit again tomorrow. Jongin wouldn’t have left, if he had his way, but rules were rules. “I’m so happy today—so, so happy I can’t ask for anything more.”

“You should,” Jongin had answered. “You’re free to ask for more. I’m here to grant them for you now.”

But Sehun had shaken his head with a minute smile and said nothing further.

Jongin had returned the next day as promised, carrying a bouquet of assorted flowers and a cup of bubble tea. He had bought the flowers at random, the bubble tea on purpose. Although he had no idea if the staff kept Sehun on a strict diet or if recovering pneumonia patients could consume cold, sugary drinks, his excitement on surprising him had prevailed.

During the commute, Jongin had smiled while thinking of the possible things Sehun could be doing at the moment; if he was awake, eating breakfast, or energetic enough to take his routine morning walk in the garden.

Minji’s tearstained face greeting him at the lobby hadn’t been included in the considered possibilities, heart dropping to his stomach before the words had been said.

Oh Sehun, aged sixty-seven, had passed away in his sleep at dawn.

Sehun’s room had been cleaned and cleared of traces proving he had resided in it for three years. Sehun’s belongings had been packed in a single box courtesy of Minji, the lightness of it in Jongin’s hands a stark contrast to the unbearable heaviness pressing down on his chest.

Near four decades before Jongin had fulfilled his promise, only for an unpredicted heartbreak.

Near four decades too late for amends, Jongin had thought with bitterness, as he stood at the foot of the freshly-dug grave, shivering under the merciless downpour.

Though unlike the first time, and the others following it, Jongin was determined to save Sehun in this reset. Many a time he agonized over his continued existence after returning to the future, though the bathroom accident was, perhaps, the miracle he’d been waiting for.

The miracle that would help him set things right.

And this miracle Jongin continued believing in as he survived each day. He resumed work in the institute, now promoted as head physicist, as per Professor Jo’s wishes. After the success of their previous project, the team deemed it only fitting the next one would revolve around researching methods for traveling back in time. His cynicism reared its ugly head at his co-workers’ open excitement but held back his scornful comments. If only they knew this project would walk down the path of continuous failure until the turn of the next century.

Jongin ended each day with a hospital visit. He’d grown accustomed to the one-sided conversations, eating meals for two, Sehun’s deadlocked state. Two months with neither development nor decline was disheartening, but Jongin stubbornly held onto the hope that Sehun would overcome this adversary.

The twitching of Sehun’s fingers proved this belief, on a balmy June 25th.

It prodded Jongin awake from his nap, but he passed it off as the movement of his own fingers. Groggy and disoriented, he sat upright and fixed himself into a better position with every intention of reclaiming his sleep.

His head had barely touched his folded arms when Sehun’s fingers twitched before his eyes.

The forefinger first, followed by the middle and ring fingers. They curled midway then extended, joined by the pinky and thumb within three heartbeats. Repeated; ceased.

Twitching fingers in comatose patients were often involuntary and not a reliable indicator of improvement, according to Dr. Zhang, when Sehun moved his fingers the first time not more than a month ago and snatched Jongin’s newly-reclaimed hope. The twitches occurred some more afterward until Jongin started believing it was more of a reflex than Sehun proving he was waking up.

This time won’t be any different, Jongin thought, as he lowered his head once more.

Sehun’s eyes fluttering open stopped him mid-movement.

Jongin might as well have stopped breathing, too, as he watched Sehun’s unfocused gaze roam around the ceiling for what felt like hours before it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly descended and locked on him, replicating a scene from long ago. He opened his mouth but could utter neither word nor sound, elated over Sehun’s awakening and hesitant that this development might mean nothing special in a medical perspective.

Sehun mouthed words, at first. Attempted speaking but produced garbled noises, instead, most likely from the disuse of his throat for months. Jongin buzzed for a nurse, on edge and mind haywire but welcomed the seeping relief and delight into his system.

The nurse arrived and gasped in pleasant surprise—

“He’s awake!” Jongin couldn’t help blurting out in his excitement.

—then called out “Code blue!” into the hallway when the heart monitor’s shrieking beeps invaded the room. Quickly she hurried to Sehun’s side, pressing the heels of her hands to his chest and pumped.

Two nurses from the code blue team burst into the room. One of them was pushing a crash cart; the other secured a backboard under Sehun and took over in applying compressions.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be this way._  
  
Jongin stood aside and gave them room, listening to the chaos of tossed orders and convoluted jargon. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from Sehun, whose eyes had slipped close sometime after the arrival of the pharmacist and the administering of a drug with a name he didn’t catch.

The beeping persisted, grating to Jongin’s ears but couldn’t summon the strength to lift his hands and cover them.

_It wasn’t supposed to be this way._

A tense pause befell the room at the slowing of the frenzied beeping, everyone’s eyes on the erratic waves that grew smaller in size.

“Come on, Sehun. You have to fight,” Jongin pleaded, restraining himself from launching at Sehun’s prone figure and shaking him awake.

The monitor displayed a long, flat line set to the tune of a monotone beep seconds later.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

In Jongin’s resets, despite the extreme deviations in the timeline, Sehun remained the same person he’d known since the beginning: always loving, always forgiving, always owned a big heart ready to sympathize and understand.

In this reset, Sehun still possessed these qualities, but Jongin sensed something amiss. He pinned it on his honed sensitivity concerning Sehun’s quirks and traits, though he couldn’t pinpoint yet what was bothering him.

On a rare day Jongin reached home earlier than Sehun, he perused the content of their cupboards and refrigerator and deduced they had enough for tuna kimchi rice and instant porridge. The former was one of the few dishes he could perfect without sacrificing his fingers or the food itself. The latter was for Sehun, who left for work this morning with a raised temperature and select parts of his body aching for unexplained reasons. Jongin would’ve attempted cooking the real thing since it packed more nutrients and tasted better, but it would take a few hours he couldn’t afford, and he refused letting Sehun starve.

He pulled up his sleeves and threw himself into preparing dinner, singing choice songs by Michael Jackson since he was too lazy to set up his iPod. During the pauses in his task, his mind would stray to Sehun’s condition and contemplate if he was coming down with the flu but was too stubborn to admit it.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward at the opening and closing of the front door half an hour later, followed by a pair of footsteps.

“Welcome—”

The rest of Jongin’s greeting disappeared upon noticing the smudge of brown along Sehun’s jaw line.

Eyes traveling down had Jongin gasping at the dirt smeared across Sehun’s once pristine white dress shirt, which also stained his fingertips and laced the cuffs of his slacks.

“Hey.” Sehun cracked a smile, breaking Jongin out of his daze.

Jongin wasted no time hurrying Sehun to the bathroom. With each twist and turn of his body, Sehun would grimace or hiss, so Jongin assisted him in stripping off his soiled clothing and dressing in fresh ones. Jongin checked for bruises or wounds of any kind that might be responsible for Sehun’s obvious discomfort, but finding none only fueled his concern than relieve him from it.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” Jongin asked, watching Sehun scrub his face clean, anger on his behalf bubbling in his chest.

Sehun shook his head and reached for the towel. “It’s nothing serious.”

“ _Nothing serious?_ ” Jongin parroted in disbelief. “You come home looking like you were embroiled in a scuffle minus the beating, and you call it ‘nothing serious?’ No, Sehun, this is serious enough for me to worry someone’s out to get you, and I won’t wait until it escalates to unimaginable heights.”

Jongin was aware it was the overreaction talking, but he absolutely wouldn’t stand anyone harming Sehun.

Sehun’s soft, reassuring smile dispelled a portion of Jongin’s anger as he was drawn into his arms, a hand stroking his nape in an act of placation. “I’m fine, Jongin; it’s really nothing serious. No one did anything to me. Since you’ve cooked dinner, let’s eat. I’m a bit tired, so I plan on sleeping early tonight. Can I ask for a massage, too? My body’s achy, and it’s been a pain to move today.”

The calm, soothing way in which Sehun spoke drained the fight from Jongin as he acquiesced to his wishes. His curiosity burned strong, but he also trusted Sehun to open up once ready. For now, he could only wait. Sehun never kept important matters from him for too long, anyway. Hesitated, maybe, but never concealed them with deliberation.

In the following days, Jongin always arrived to Sehun’s leather shoes in the foyer caked with mud and work attire freshly laundered. He never brought up his suspicions, even teased Sehun for washing just his clothes. Sehun apologized with a laugh and a scratch to the back of his head. Jongin caught a nervous gleam in his eyes the sheepish expression couldn’t conceal.

Two weeks later, Mr. Kwon from five doors down joined Jongin in his subway ride home. The kind old man was known throughout their building as the owner of the notorious cat from hell, Peaches, whose sweet appearance deceived people into petting him and acquiring bites or scratches in return. Peaches’ other favorite pastime was worrying Mr. Kwon by constantly sneaking out of the apartment and gallivanting to who knows where.

Mr. Kwon was telling Jongin the story about Peaches’ recent escape, the details of it kindling his mounting curiosity.

“Peaches snuck out not long ago and climbed a tree in the mini garden downstairs. Your sweetheart happened to be there and helped us, bless him,” Mr. Kwon praised with a grateful smile. “I was so scared my Peaches would fall—I don’t know why he insists on climbing trees when he can’t come down on his own! Oh, but enough about my Peaches. Has your sweetheart found what he lost?”

Confusion filled Jongin. “Lost?”

“I saw him digging up the soil of the flower beds before approaching him. Your sweetheart told me he lost something but didn’t mention what. He must’ve been searching for a long time—his clothes had soil all over them!”

Mr. Kwon’s story reverberated in the corridors of Jongin’s mind and rose in volume as he drew closer to their apartment. Sehun was more mindful of his belongings than him. Even fewer were the episodes of him misplacing something out of carelessness. Jongin didn’t want to doubt Mr. Kwon’s words, but Sehun still hadn’t revealed the reason behind his strange behavior, either.

Jongin decided he’d waited enough and would raise the issue.

His plans for confrontation vanished when Sehun stumbled through the front door and collapsed to his knees, breathing labored with a hand propped on the wall in a feeble attempt at preventing himself from toppling forward. Ice-cold fear seized Jongin as he helped Sehun stand up and walk, noticing his ashy complexion and the prominent bags under his eyes. Sehun’s sluggish movements lengthened the usual five-second journey to the bedroom, each step accompanied by a pained whimper.

“Work fatigue,” was Sehun’s reason when Jongin brought up the observation, flashing a watery smile. “You know how hectic it is during exam season.”

Jongin would’ve agreed, except exam seasons, even at their most brutal, _never_ pushed Sehun to a sustained state of sickliness—unexplained, at that.

Fearful of the situation spiraling out of control, Jongin convinced Sehun to get himself checked and insisted he would take no for an answer. He’d tie him up and drag him there if he had to.

Jongin couldn’t hide his surprise in seeing Dr. Zhang seated on the stool when the nurse ushered them inside the clinic. Dr. Zhang lifted his head from the patient file in his hand, directing a polite smile and nod at Sehun.

“Good morning, Mr. Oh, Mr. Kim.”

The discreet, meaningful look Dr. Zhang sent his way told him he was expecting them, however.

Dr. Zhang conducted a thorough checkup, asking pertinent questions and nodding and humming at Sehun’s answers. He announced not finding anything wrong with Sehun, but he’d prescribe some vitamins and recited the generic instructions of eating and sleeping right to combat the fatigue. He grabbed a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled on his notepad, adding he would also like to run some tests and would schedule Sehun for those in the upcoming week.

Once Sehun excused himself to head for the pharmacy, Jongin faced Dr. Zhang, tone accusatory as he spat out, “You know something.”

“As a doctor, it is my duty to examine my patients and give them the most accurate diagnosis,” Dr. Zhang said, unfazed. He dropped his pen inside his pocket. “It’s not an outright lie Sehun needs rest, but the vitamins and health maintenance guidelines can only do so much for his physical body. Everything else from here on out will depend on you.”

“What _can_ I do?” Jongin snapped. “God knows I want to help him with everything I have, but how can I when I have no fucking clue of what’s weakening him?” His jaw clenched, hands curling by his sides. Articulating his long-hidden doubts and fears aloud helped him acknowledge and accept his shortcomings, no matter how huge of a blow his pride took from it.

Jongin thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in Dr. Zhang’s eyes, albeit fleeting, but couldn’t say for sure.

The ensuing silence aided in soothing Jongin’s temper and melting his hostility. He inhaled and exhaled several deep breaths before asking, in a calmer voice but with the same degree of helplessness, “Why does it feel like what I’m doing isn’t enough?”

“Listen closer to what Sehun is telling you. Don’t wait until it’s too late and you’re left with nothing but regret.”

Jongin couldn’t help frowning at Dr. Zhang’s words.

“My offer from the previous reset still stands.”

“I don’t need it,” Jongin replied right away.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk—always so hasty, you mortals.” Dr. Zhang smiled, wry but somewhat amused. “You don’t even know what I’m offering.”

“Whatever you’re offering might be more trouble than what it’s worth.”

“Even if it’s what you so desire—a world where Sehun lives and stays by your side?”

Jongin narrowed his eyes in suspicion, dissecting Dr. Zhang’s words for hidden meanings. Searched Dr. Zhang’s face for hints he was cracking a joke but found none. Even so, Jongin kept his guard up. He’d read his share of mythology and folklore books to know immortals could trick humans into engaging in deals with them at their most desperate and vulnerable.

Dr. Zhang strode toward the cabinet beside Jongin in an unhurried pace and produced another patient file from its drawer. “I agree with Father Time. Not even your fierce willpower can stop the tragedy from happening, although accepting my offer will extricate you from it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful ending your anguish and living with Sehun in a world where nothing will separate you?”

Jongin tried not to squirm from the stare Dr. Zhang pinned him with, intrusive in its intensity, like he intended on taking his soul apart piece by piece.

Caught off-guard at the sudden press of Dr. Zhang’s cool fingers to his forehead, the contact immobilizing his body as a whirlwind of memories from mixed timelines flashed before his eyes. They played like a film on rewind and one by one disintegrated beyond his control.

Jongin’s temples throbbed, positive his head would explode from the stream of unrecognizable images assailing him and seaming themselves into the crevices of his mind:

Sehun blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, cheeks and tips of his ears tainted red as he halfheartedly griped about being too old for this at thirty-six.

Sehun lifting their linked hands during a moonlit walk by the Han River, pressing a feather-light kiss on the silver band on Jongin’s ring finger with an unrivaled softness in his eyes and murmuring heartfelt thanks for marrying him.

Sehun cradling an infant swathed in a mint green blanket, rattling off potential names for their newly-adopted daughter in uncontained enthusiasm, his face radiating pure love.

Jongin’s breath hitched as more images flashed and aggravated the budding ache in his chest. Images showing a potential future he longed and didn’t stop longing for. The future stolen from him. From them.

“The future I can easily give should you accept my offer,” Dr. Zhang’s smooth voice filtered between the switches.

Jongin shoved Dr. Zhang’s hand away, stumbling backward until he hit the wall. The throbbing subsided and the images vanished; his memories restored. The coldness of the concrete seeping into the material of his suddenly too-stuffy sweater sobered him up quick.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, despising the shakiness of his voice.

“Your perfect world.” Dr. Zhang looked every bit as unbothered and unrepentant, professional smile returning to his face. Jongin resisted the urge to wipe it off with his fist. “Be wise in your decisions, Jongin. You might possess the strength to endure everything thrown your way, unpredictable as they come, but not everyone is like you. Not even Sehun.”

Jongin didn’t deign him with a response and stormed out of the clinic, though it helped little in shaking off Dr. Zhang’s ominous words.

Words that occupied Jongin’s thoughts in the coming days, distracting and tormenting him round the clock, adding to his festering worries of Sehun’s lack of health improvement and growing secrecy regarding the brown patches on his clothes.

Jongin didn’t have the heart to confront Sehun in his current condition, but his patience had worn thin waiting for answers.

He could only offer a mental apology in advance for what he was planning when Sehun emerged from the Humanities building at quarter past five in the afternoon the next day.

Jongin had taken the day off from work on purpose and staked out at the closest coffee shop. His window seat allowed him a generous view of Sehun from across the street, but it was also inconspicuous enough that he wouldn’t be easily discovered. He downed the remnants of his drink, almost choking on the last gulp, then left the shop and trailed after Sehun from a safe distance.

Nothing unusual for the first two blocks—until Sehun turned at the corner and flagged a cab instead of walking straight ahead to the subway station.

Jongin hailed the first cab driving by, brows furrowing. He kept his eyes fixed on the other cab throughout the ride, combing through a mental list of places Sehun could possibly head for that was out of the way.

The cab slowed and stopped in front of the entrance to a cemetery ten minutes later.

Jongin waited for Sehun to walk past the gates before following. Sehun navigated his way past tombstones with surprising ease. Jongin racked his mind for clues involving important deaths or anniversaries he might’ve missed or forgotten in the past days but came up blank.

Sehun arrived in front of a vacant plot at the far end of the cemetery and looked around his surroundings. Jongin ducked behind the nearest tombstone, holding his breath and straining his ears for any sort of movement.

His waiting lasted ten seconds before he mustered the courage to sneak a peek, vigilant and growing more intrigued in the passing seconds.

Sehun had tossed his bag and coat aside, the sleeves of his dress shirt pulled above his elbows. Kneeling on the ground, Sehun grabbed a fistful of soil and scrubbed it on his arm. The other arm. Cheeks, neck, every inch of exposed skin he could cover. Held out his hands before him and examined them.

Jongin couldn’t tell if Sehun’s hands were trembling from the cold air or something else entirely.

“Why isn’t it working?” Sehun questioned to no one in particular. “It should work here.”

More fistfuls of soil, more vigorous scrubbing—repeat.

Sehun shook his head and, with a determined look on his face, burrowed his hands into the earth and dug. Soil flew up and around him as he plunged deeper into the ground, frenzied and bordering on vengeful.

“Stop,” Jongin called out, though not loud enough for Sehun to hear. His mind screamed at him to do something— _anything_ —but his feet refused to budge.

Sehun clenched his hands into fists and brought them down hard into the soil. “Damn it, why won’t it work?” he shouted in near-tangible frustration, scaring away a pair of birds perched on a neighboring tombstone. He shook his head; gulped down steadying breaths. “There must be a way. _There must be._ ”

Sehun grabbed a handful of soil and raised it to his mouth.

Jongin’s knees magically unbuckled and he dashed forward, shoving Sehun’s hand away. The impact knocked the soil out of Sehun’s loosened fist.

“Stop this! What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, aghast.

Sehun gradually lifted his head. Jongin’s heart sank at the blatant misery in his eyes.

“Why won’t it work?” Sehun asked, sounding depleted of hope. “I’ve tried so many sources: the potted plants in the faculty room, the rows of trees in the children’s park, the flower beds outside the apartment; but they only supply temporary energy boosts.”

Conversation fragments with Mr. Kwon and Dr. Zhang rushed to the forefront of Jongin’s mind. Never did he curse at his quick understanding of the formed picture as much as he did now.

Sehun looked at the hole he’d created, resting a palm on it. “Do you remember? I was buried here the first time I died and in the resets that followed. I thought the soil from my grave would release me from the pain.” A chuckle—bitter, derisive. “How naïve of me.”

Jongin crouched beside Sehun, gingerly taking hold of his hands and ignoring their iciness against his own. Grime resided underneath his nails, tawny brown staining his fingertips with a blend of red produced by the cuts Sehun acquired from jagged stone edges.

“I’m so tired, Jongin,” Sehun said, and it reflected in his tone, on his face. “My soul is strapped to my body, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It’s struggling to hold up and—and it hurts. It hurts so much.” He grabbed Jongin by the shoulders and squeezed to the point of painful. Jongin hissed but didn’t break away from his hold. “I just want it to go away. Please make it go away.”

Jongin’s heart crumbled at the heavy implication behind the request. The plea in Sehun’s eyes rang louder than any vocalized request, and he felt trapped in it, felt compelled to give him what he wanted.

“I can’t.”

Guilt stabbed him swift and cruel at his traitorous mouth and preposterous answer, multiplied a hundredfold by the mechanical shake of his head.

“I can’t do it.”

Jongin heard himself say the words in his own voice, but it didn’t sound like him at all. _Wasn’t_ like him at all.

“I can’t promise when, but I believe one of the resets won’t end in parting. Hang on just a bit more for me, okay? You can ask me for anything else— _literally anything else_ —but not this. Please not this.”

Guilt stabbed him deeper on witnessing the surprise, pain, and anguish move across Sehun’s face.

Stabbed him the hardest when Sehun’s hands slid off his shoulders and his arms dropped limply to his sides, head lowering as a choked sob escaped him.

Was it worth breaking Sehun’s heart for his selfishness?

Jongin asked himself this while pulling up the blanket over Sehun’s motionless figure, his forehead creased and expression severe even in sleep. Sehun had been sleeping this way since the cemetery incident; had continued returning home in dirtied clothes and fingers ridden with cuts, scarcely touching his meals or consuming numbered mouthfuls before declaring himself full; had been staring out the window or up the sky for prolonged hours mid-task.

As always, Sehun would dismiss his concerns with gentle assurances. Jongin never bought them.

Neither did Jinki on their next shop visit.

“Suffering people prefer denial than admission. Would you like a fork, instead?” Jinki gestured to Sehun’s bandaged wrist.

Sehun had slipped from the stepladder in the university library yesterday and broke his fall with his hand, spraining it in turn. Jongin wouldn’t have known if not for Sehun’s constant tug of his jacket sleeve downward in a lame attempt at hiding it.

Sehun shook his head with a polite smile. “I don’t use my left hand often, so I’ll manage. It’s not too bad a sprain; the doctor said it’ll heal in a week.” His phone lit up beside his bowl. He checked it and gave Jongin and Jinki a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I have to take this. Work loves me too much.”

“That phone conversation is going to last ten minutes.” Jinki slipped into Sehun’s now-empty chair, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I heard Yixing offered an end to your resetting. Twice.”

“And I turned him down. Twice,” Jongin replied, defensiveness rising.

Jinki clucked his tongue; shook his head. “You’re tougher than expected. Other resetters accept from the get-go. Fret not—I won’t meddle. I’m more concerned about Sehun and the rapid deterioration of his physical body.” He looked in the direction Sehun had walked off to. Jongin followed his gaze. “S’been centuries since I’ve last seen a soul languish like his.”

Jongin chewed on his lower lip. A question weighed heavy in his mind, one he might or might not receive an answer to. One he should’ve asked a long time ago in the midst of his optimism still running full.

“How much time does Sehun have left in this reset?”

Jinki returned his attention to him, a tiny smile breaking his mask of solemnity.

“Are you aware of what you’re asking of me, Kim Jongin?”

Jongin dropped his gaze to the noodles swimming in the bowl, hands curling into fists on top of his thighs. His face burned from the shame and humiliation of asking an immortal’s help after the grand speeches and prideful acts of not needing it. Without thinking twice, he squeezed his eyes shut and bowed as low as he could while seated.

“I-I know it’s laughable on my part to do this now, of all times; but, please, I beg of you! Please help me out, for the first and last time. I need to know how long Sehun has left.”

Silence stretched on for what seemed like hours, torturing and taunting Jongin with the possibility of rejection.

“Raise your head,” came Jinki’s instruction, uttered in the kindest voice Jongin had heard from him as of yet.

Jongin complied. His eyes widened and mouth fell open at the innumerable pigeon-hole shelves lining the walls of this new and spacious room they now occupied. Each compartment housed identical-looking hourglasses. The high domed ceiling was a living painting of the night sky, swirling clockwise in a languid fashion, tiny stars flickering bright in welcome.

Jinki raised his arm. White light appeared in the center of his palm and spiraled upward to form an ornate hourglass crafted from dark cherry wood and the clearest glass. Fine grains of sand the color of canaries poured down in a languid trickle.

Right away Jongin noticed the lower bulb’s alarming state of near fullness.

“I’ve foreseen the exact date of what you dread. Unfortunately, sharing classified information is prohibited. Let the hourglass speak for itself.” Jinki withdrew his arm, but the hourglass remained floating mid-air. Then, in a tone carrying neither accusation nor condescension, he asked, “Have you found your answer? Do you understand now?”

Jongin stared hard at the unceasing flow of sand from one chamber to another, painfully aware that no amount of wishing would delay or freeze the motion.

Visions of Sehun’s hourglass followed him in his dreams; in glimpses at clocks and the ticking of watches, in news reports of accidents and overheard snippets of people mourning the sudden loss of their loved ones. The quick passing of days witnessed Sehun’s increased enervation and susceptibility to sprains and other minor accidents that left Jongin fraught with worry.

It was only a matter of time before another forced parting between them.

Only a matter of time until the violet envelope’s arrival in two weeks, a fact the wall calendar reminded him while washing dishes on a sunlit Sunday noon mid-March.

In the living room, Sehun lay stretched out on the couch, blanket slipping from his legs to the floor as he shifted into a more comfortable position. The television stood open and forgotten, playing a drama re-run on moderate volume. Jongin retrieved the blanket and draped it over Sehun, stilling when he roused and blinked bleary eyes up at him.

Jongin sat beside him and pushed the bangs from his forehead. “Want to escape Seoul?”

“Now?” Sehun’s forehead wrinkled in groggy disbelief. He closed his eyes once more and curled his fingers around Jongin’s wrist, pulling it down so he could nuzzle his cheek against his hand.

“Yup.”

“This is a first,” Sehun pointed out, more interested in emulating the laziness of a cat. He looked more awake when he looked at Jongin again. “Where are we going?”

Naksan Beach’s waters had never looked bluer, and the sea breeze had never smelled fresher. Jongin snuck a glance at Sehun, who took in the infinite stretch of water before them, childlike awe lighting up his features and color returning to his face. In no time, Sehun cajoled Jongin into kicking off their sneakers and rolling up the cuffs of their jeans to frolic in the water; built sandcastles and decorated it with corals and seaweed; picked out seashells buried in the sand and held them up to their ears, listening to their hidden murmurs. The afternoon sun warmed them and served as the sole witness to their antics, for the beach was empty save for their presence.

Vibrant shades of orange and red now permeated the afternoon sky. They walked down the length of the shoreline, hands clasped and feet submerged in the cool water. Small waves lapped up the shore, foam sweeping along their ankles. Overhead the faint cry of a seagull was heard.

“Aren’t we too early for this beach trip?” Sehun asked, breaking the silence.

“There’s no telling what tomorrow might bring. I don’t take surprises well anymore.” Jongin skipped over a lump of seaweed. “Consider it an early birthday present I should’ve given you a long time ago.”

Sehun didn’t reply, although Jongin felt him squeeze his hand.

A beat of silence, then Jongin barked out a sardonic laugh he’d been holding back and shook his head.

“I’m terrible, aren’t I? I only thought of my suffering without considering yours. I dove headlong into each reset without a second thought, confident you wanted the same things I did. My greed for more time with you and my adamant rejection of the unchangeable reality has blinded me… but not anymore. You’ve gone through enough on my expense.”

Jongin didn’t realize they’d stopped walking until Sehun moved to stand in front of him with their hands still linked. Sehun trailed the fingers of his free hand down Jongin’s face and pressed his palm to his cheek with the kind of tenderness only he possessed.

“You can be the most selfish, the most infuriating, or the most terrible—and sometimes you are—but even at your worst, I still love you.”

Jongin swallowed the growing lump of emotion in his throat. “How could you, though? After what I’ve put you through, surely—” He was silenced by a finger pressed to his lips.

“Reasons don’t matter.”

The sun was halfway through setting, its fiery brightness spreading through the sea surface and loaned the illusion of the water blazing on fire. Small orbs of light materialized out of thin air and surrounded them, glow rising and fading like fireflies. Jongin reached out for one, but it danced away from his touch and hovered above Sehun’s head. Jongin followed its movements the best he could without blinking. His eyes watered from the strain he had no choice but to squeeze them shut.

Reopened them to Sehun marveling at the orbs and succeeding in tapping them, even if his entire right hand had turned transparent.

Sehun’s gaze found his. Jongin’s chest constricted at the knowing smile on his lips.

“No.” Jongin shook his head, tightening his hold on Sehun’s solid hand. “Not yet. You can’t—I’m not ready—you _can’t—_ ”

“You are. You can. You’ve made your decision when you brought us here.”

Jongin continued shaking his head but didn’t refute the statement.

More orbs of light blinked into existence. Tears blurred Jongin’s vision as a wave of helplessness swept through him at Sehun’s growing transparency from the waist down. He threw his arms around Sehun and embraced him with all his might and desperation.

“This is for the best, but why does it hurt so much?”

Sehun rubbed soothing circles into his back. “The hardest choice hurts the most.”

Jongin wept into his shoulder like a child. “I’m sorry it took me so long to do what I should’ve done the first time.”

“I’m sorry too, you know?” Sehun’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for always leaving first. For always breaking your heart and making you cry when I do. Even now I’m doing it again.”

Jongin pulled back, just enough so he could see Sehun’s face and the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. He couldn’t feel the firmness of Sehun’s body anymore or the warmth he exuded. Jongin sent a silent plea to whichever immortal listening to him out there for a moment longer, _just one moment longer_.

“If we are destined to meet again in another lifetime, I’ll pray hard to live it with you until the end.”

Jongin’s eyes dropped close as Sehun leaned forward and kissed him with tremendous adoration and reverence.

The orbs floated skyward, higher and higher, taking with them the last traces of Sehun’s warmth; of Sehun himself as he grew more and more transparent, slowly disappearing before him. They twinkled against the sky as Jongin watched them wink out of view one by one.

In the final colors of the evening sun, Jongin’s lips tingled from the most beautiful, most bittersweet parting gift.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Like a practiced tradition he couldn’t break out of anymore, Jongin returned to Naksan a day before Sehun’s birthday. Families and groups of teenagers and young adults were scattered about unlike last time, enjoying the beach and its humble offerings. He smiled at the children who ran past and waved at him in genial greeting on his way to find a relatively quiet space.

He sat on the sand after covering a distance he deemed far enough, looking out into the sea while sipping the chocolate bubble tea he brought with him. He almost choked at the mind-numbing sweetness that burst in his mouth. He swallowed and glared at the cup, feeling wronged.

“That’s not a very nice face to make when reminiscing about your lover.”

Jongin startled at Jinki’s sudden appearance. Past encounters with Jinki had seldom incited positive feelings in him since the revelation of his true self. Now, he could afford a laugh in appreciation of the joke and nodded toward the space beside him in silent invitation.

“I forgot Sehun likes his bubble tea super sweet.” Jongin grimaced again after the second sip, eliciting a laugh from Jinki. He set the cup aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, drawing strength to consume the sugar atrocity in the coming hour or so.

Jinki unscrewed the cap of the bottle of soymilk he brought with him. He drank half of it in one go. “Had you gone through another reset, I don’t think you would’ve lasted for long.”

“Oh?” Jongin arched an eyebrow.

“In typical cases, resetters are stuck in an endless loop until madness takes possession of them from things not working out in their favor. It’s rare and difficult for a resetter to stop once they start, so cases like yours are peculiar but not the first. Had you gone on overdrive, I would have been forced to dispose of you.”

Jinki’s voice contained no threat or malice and spoke more about it like one would about facts.

“So I passed the test?” Jongin asked cheekily.

Jinki chuckled. “I wouldn’t say you’re completely safe, truth be told. As long as you tap into the source of what triggers a reset, you’re prone to another repeat—or several.”

Jongin’s curiosity must’ve been painted all over his face because Jinki added, after a sip, “A resetter’s trigger is never removed from their system. It can lie dormant or forgotten, but it resurfaces at the face of great adversary or an influx of emotion. The real challenge is resisting temptation in pulling the trigger. Few have triumphed; most have paid the price. What resetters decide on is not my business, though for once, I hope you won’t belong to the latter. Fate Weaver has been scolding me for a millennium and my ears hurt from their preaching. Is it my fault if resetters ruin their Threads of Life?”

Jongin laughed, loud and unrestrained.

“Is Dr. Zhang Fate Weaver?”

“Yixing? By gods, no. He’s Memory Keeper. We work together where resetters are concerned—or the dangerous ones on the verge of disrupting the balance, at least. Yixing steals a resetter’s memories when they go berserk. We create a paradise using these memories. It’s the most effective way to handle them, so far.”

Jongin shuddered at the thought of being forever trapped in a makeshift world where he knew no pain or regret—just living his life in pure bliss with the best memories he couldn’t distinguish between authentic and imaginary. Appealing and ideal as it sounded, he didn’t want this sort of world for himself. He couldn’t imagine anyone tampering with his memories, especially ones involving Sehun.

In some way, whether he knew or not, Sehun had been watching out for him.

Jinki drew random patterns on the sand with a finger. “Where do you go from here?”

“Forward. There’s nothing for me here anymore.”

It felt strange, hearing these words come from his mouth; more surprising was the absence of self-contempt for stating the truth. Perhaps his acceptance of the situation, however gradual and reluctant, helped lessen the pain. Jongin conceded it wouldn’t fully go away—might take years, might not ever—but it wasn’t too unbearable anymore.

Conversation petered out to a companionable silence. The distant laughter of children, the crash of waves, and Jinki’s humming created a harmony of pleasant sounds that lulled Jongin into savoring this moment of peace.

Jinki stopped humming and consumed his soymilk down to the last drop. He stood up. “I’d love to stay longer, but I have a naengmyeon shop to run. See you when I see you, Kim Jongin.”

“Come visit me in the future, hyung. I could use a drinking companion when the mood hits,” Jongin said to his retreating back. “Also, tell me the title of the love song you keep humming. I’m trying to recall the title but failing.”

Jinki raised his hand in a lazy wave without turning around.

Jongin attempted drinking the chocolate bubble tea again, though it took him longer than estimated. He succeeded in the end although he was pretty sure he grimaced more times than he would like to admit.

“Weak,” Sehun would’ve retorted at him. Jongin could almost hear it in his head, bringing a smile to his lips.

“It’s almost your birthday again, Sehun,” Jongin spoke to the wind. “Supposing this is the final reset, my life in the future will be rough during the first few years. I won’t be able to buy a cake in celebration of your birthday until I’ve earned enough, but you won’t be upset over that, will you?”

A warm breezed floated by, caressing Jongin’s face like a lover would.

“I’m still sad you’re not here anymore. Of what can never be changed. I’ll be sad for a long time, I won’t lie about that. I can’t say when I’ll fully recover, but don’t be sad for me. I will be okay. I don’t know when, but I will be.”

Jongin stood up. He dusted away the sand stuck to his pants and carried the now-empty cup. ”I’ll buy a cake on the way home and celebrate in advance. And then… I’m off to do great things. Things you tirelessly cheered me on at. So watch over me from where you are, all right? Watch me become the Kim Jongin you will be proud of.”

He gazed at the vast blue sea, taking in the scenery for the last time. Then, he turned around and walked away.

 

 

 

**fin.**


End file.
